


Forget the Dragon

by stellahibernis



Series: Entire History of Human Desire [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Building a Life, Dealing With Guilt, Evolution of a relationship, Friends to Lovers, Healing, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve is taking a long overdue break, Team Bonding, background Nat/Sam, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, twelve days over a year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: Bucky is brought out of cryostasis, and he has to figure out how to live his life now as a free man, how to deal with the guilt that still weighs him down, and how his life entwines with Steve’s again.There is a townhouse in Brooklyn, a team that might become friends, a new responsibility, and hopefully happiness somewhere down the road.





	1. April 10th 2017

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story around Bucky’s 100th birthday, and the gist of this was that I posted once a month, and the chapters are set entirely on the day of posting. So we have twelve days of Bucky’s life over a year. It means the story structure is pretty fun (at least to write, hopefully to read too), because obviously things happen while we’re not “present”.
> 
> This fic is told entirely from Bucky’s POV, and there is a companion fic told in Steve’s, [From One Foot to the Other](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/25530594). It has the same idea, twelve days over a year, and the stories chronologically overlap each other.
> 
> The story is posted as two fics instead of just one, so that there are two ways to read it, all in chronological order, or all of one person’s POV at once, and then the other. It makes two slightly different ways to experience the story. I’ve added links in the end notes of chapters when the chronological order requires jumping from one fic to the other, so either way of reading is easy.

The first thing that registers as he comes to is that the sun is sitting low over the horizon beyond the large windows, coloring the sky pink and orange. He’s not sure if it’s rising or setting, not right then. He can’t remember the direction of the windows of the room he’s been kept at, and there’s a thread of panic in him, wanting to scream at him that not knowing things like that will mean death. Except not now, not here.

There are people bustling around him, talking, looking at screens, moving him gently and carefully. No words register, no faces either. He’s still cold and numb, stiff at every joint, hazy in his head, but it’s okay, he reminds himself. He knows he’s safe, even if it’s still hard to believe such things. He was made a promise, by a man that had tried to kill him, by a king that grew into the role. He can rely on that promise.

He’s safe, and he lets himself drift away.

He wakes up again, a little more solid, a little more himself. The sun is up higher, so it must have been a sunrise since he doesn’t think he slept the night through. It’s been an hour, he thinks. The room is quiet and calm, the only sounds the low hum of electricity and breathing, his and someone else’s.

Bucky shifts a bit to look to his side, and he is Bucky, isn’t he, now that he’s settled into himself. No longer someone frozen between moments, no longer just a potential awaiting. He is a person, and he has to live up to it now, to face everything that comes with it.

Next to him Steve blinks, coming back to himself from staring into the air, and when he sees Bucky is awake he smiles. It’s not one of the brightest smiles Bucky has seen from Steve, not by a long shot. It’s tentative, it’s tired, and there are hints of the pain left, the pain Bucky saw when he decided to go back into ice in Wakanda.

“We missed your hundredth birthday,” Steve says. “By a month.”

Bucky turns the information around in his head. It’s the kind of a thing that maybe matters to normal people, but it’s been years since he cared about birthdays, and the round number does nothing to make it more significant. His birth date is data for him, nothing more. What it tells him is that it’s been about eight and half months since he went under, which is in a way less than he expected, and more as well.

When he went under, it was after extracting a promise from everyone involved that they’d only bring him out when they had a way to fix his head, or in an utmost crisis. The fact that Steve is there, relaxed despite the fact he’s clearly a bit uncomfortable, means that most likely there is no crisis. Bucky went under knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to find a way to repair the damage caused by HYDRA, he’d known it might take a long time, years even.

He had also expected to be pulled out of the ice sooner, because it felt all too unlikely that he’d actually be able to have it, the peace of oblivion. He still isn’t quite able to believe it isn’t like that after all, that he hasn’t been awaken for something other than the cure.

“Did you find out what to do with my head?” Bucky asks, because he has to know and there’s no use delaying.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and tries to smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean, not me personally, but there is one. You need to recover from the cryostasis, but they can do it as soon as you’re ready.”

It’s an overwhelming feeling of relief that floods into Bucky, and he lets himself fall back onto the pillows. At least that part of his troubles will be sorted. There is a whole laundry list of others, and he doesn’t pretend this will make things easy, he isn’t sure if anything will, but it’s a start at least. He lets the knowledge float over him as he rests.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Steve settling in his chair again, turning to look out of the window, his eyes losing focus. Bucky doesn’t remember the last time he saw Steve like this, apparently lacking purpose and drive. What’s more, it’s not relaxation, there’s something wrong about it, only he can’t tell what it is. He doesn’t know this version of Steve well enough.

He doesn’t say anything, just rests and keeps an eye on Steve.

***

About an hour later a host of doctors and scientists decent on Bucky, and as he’s feeling near to his normal physical capability, he’s happy to be let out of bed, even if it is to get a thorough check-up. After decades with HYDRA, even when the time he actually spent awake was probably only some years, a decade at the most, he’s not exactly comfortable with medical procedures. It helps, though, that since Wakanda has been isolated, their technology looks different from the rest of the world’s, and their medical facilities aren’t much like regular hospitals or laboratories.

They do a full body scan of him to determine whether there are any lingering adverse effects from his time spent frozen, then take another, localized scan of his left shoulder to see how the remaining mechanical and electric parts of his arm have fared, and yet another scan of his brain. It’s all non-invasive, almost anti-climactic, as all Bucky has to do is stand on a platform as the machines circle around him, and he finds it easy enough to just wait for it to be over.

Mostly he pretends to be bored, but he takes in everything about his surroundings, his brain automatically cataloging the threat level of everyone in the room, and how useful any of the objects nearby would be as weapons. All the Wakandans present are dressed as medical personnel but Bucky can tell some of them definitely have, if not combat training, at least training to subdue and defend. It calms his mind, because there are traits and instincts he knows dictate a lot of his responses to any perceived threat, and he doesn’t actually want to hurt any of these people. It’s not likely to happen, he knows, but not likely are worse odds than he prefers.

There’s Steve too, and while he wouldn’t pose much of a threat to just Bucky if it came down between the two of them since Steve still doesn’t want to hurt him, Bucky knows Steve would do his best to prevent Bucky from hurting anyone else. Steve too knows how he feels about it.

Bucky looks at Steve too, and what he sees worries him. There is a defeated quality in Steve, something Bucky never remembers seeing, not even when he was beaten and bruised and more than halfway dead on the helicarrier, or the Brooklyn back alleys for that matter. Now there is something about Steve that’s listless, a lack of purpose. Bucky wonders what could have happened over the months that he was under to make Steve look like this. 

He aches, suddenly. He wants, he doesn’t quite know what. To make Steve look less sad, less lost, but he doesn’t know if he can do that. Not anymore. He’s not quite sure if he ever could, because Steve was always so full of fire and determination, that even though there were moments when he was knocked down and Bucky had an occasion to comfort or reassure him, Bucky can’t tell if it was him or just Steve’s nature that made him get up and try even harder.

And there’s the familiar want, the one that came back with the memories, but wasn’t real until now. He thought before that by now it is just a memory, because he is a different person, Steve is a different person and there is a whole mountain of history between them. It would make sense if the old feelings were just that, belonging to the past.

Now Bucky’s here, Steve is here, and he wants, still or again, it doesn’t really matter. It is what it is. He also knows it doesn’t mean anything will be different from before, that the want will be satisfied. But it’s okay, he’s used to wanting and having not being that close to each other.

After the doctors are satisfied that there’s nothing significantly wrong about him, more than usual anyway, Bucky is explained the procedure to fix the triggers in his brain, and that it can be done as soon as the next day. Bucky decides to not wait any longer, since he wants his head all for himself. He’d ask for them to do it immediately, but he knows it wouldn’t fly. 

The Wakandans also tell him about a new arm they’ve designed, looking much like his old one did, but more advanced, with a better sensitivity and still capable to be a weapon. Bucky says yes to it too, even if he hesitates the decision. He wonders if this would be the moment to just let it all go, he could choose to not have another arm. He could choose another path in life. Only it doesn’t feel right, it fills him with dread, and so he says yes. They arrange for the surgery to be performed the day after his brain is fixed.

***

After Bucky’s check-up they head for lunch at the apartment they stayed in when they first came to Wakanda. Bucky’s diet is rather restricted, he’s only allowed only easily digestible foods for now. They’re the only ones there, even though there are signs that the apartment has been occupied by more than one person over the months Bucky missed.

“What happened while I was under? What about your friends?” Bucky asks, remembering their discussion on the way to Siberia.

“They were locked into a prison that was in the middle of the ocean, submerged. I got them out, and we all stayed here in Wakanda for a while.”

“And now?”

“A few months ago it turned out that HYDRA had had their hand in writing the Accords, and they were pretty much controlling the whole executive branch that made all the decisions regarding superhumans. Ross wasn’t HYDRA, but apparently he’s always been more interested in his own glory than what’s fair, so they’d had a pretty easy time manipulating him.” Steve rubs at his eyes. “It was a shit show all together, but the long and short of it, the Accords are in the process of going through an overhaul, there will still be something along their lines, but now actual superhumans are being consulted in writing them, and all of us have been pardoned. Sam, Clint and Scott went back home, and Wanda’s been traveling.”

“When you say all have been pardoned, do you mean—?” Bucky asks, dreading the answer, whichever it turns out to be.

Steve smiles, for real this time. “You too. There was more information on your conditioning, and it was decided you were not responsible for your actions while under HYDRA’s power, or Zemo’s for that matter. It went pretty easily especially since Tony spoke for you.”

It leaves Bucky reeling, such a tangible example of time having passed for such a change to have happened. “I’m, I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to understand, considering.”

“It’s okay, I know it’s a change. Tony had some time to think, and he saw a bit more clearly, after. He’s a good man, after all. We are, well, it’s not easy with him, still, but it’s getting better. And now you can decide what you want to do without having to run.”

“And you, what have you been up to?” Bucky asks to distract himself from the decisions facing him.

“I’ve lived here, although in all honesty I’ve been away more. We went after HYDRA, both before and after the reveal about the Accords.”

“Who’s we?”

“Nat, Sam, and me usually, sometimes others, it’s been more about stealth than power, so no flashy superpowers unless needed. We’ve made a dent to their resources, but there’s still ways to go.” Steve leans back in his chair, looking tired again. “Sometimes it feels like it’ll never end, but they seem to be cowering at least right now.”

***

They spend a quiet afternoon, Bucky trying to adjust to the change in his situation, just the idea of not having to run. Of course, that he’s been pardoned doesn’t really mean he is completely out of hot water. There is still HYDRA, and if anything they tend to hold grudges. Given half a chance they will punish him for running. They will try anyway, but Bucky has no intention of letting them catch him again.

There is a question of what he will do now too. If he doesn’t have to run from everyone, there will be time for other things. And there is the guilt that is left, something no external pardon can alleviate. He’ll have to deal with it somehow, but he doesn’t know how to do it, not yet anyway. But maybe he will have time.

Or maybe there is no way to deal with it, maybe it will stay with him forever, something he’ll have to carry until the end of his days.

For now Bucky doesn’t think too hard about it, he just lets his mind float. Steve is there with him, just as quiet as Bucky, seemingly as deep in thought. He’s again staring in the middle distance, not reading or sketching as Bucky remembers Steve used to do if there was free time. This idleness is new, and Bucky can’t help but feel the worry again.

There is clearly something on Steve’s mind, and Bucky can’t even begin to figure out what it is, since everything that was wrong when Bucky went into ice has seemingly been sorted. It must be something else, but Bucky doesn’t know how to ask Steve. He doesn’t know if he has the right to ask questions like that anymore.

So he stays quiet, and despite the worry, it’s also surprisingly comfortable spending time with Steve. It’s unexpected, he would have thought there’d be some unease about their interactions since after his fall from the train they’ve only been together for some days, and all of that has been riddled with tension, everything around them making it impossible to just be. Now they can, and it’s easy. It partly feels like it shouldn’t be, but Bucky’s not going to look into the gift horse’s mouth, he’ll take this. 

It’s the same as ever; he’ll take whatever he can of Steve. He always has, except for the two years after he fished Steve out of the Potomac and took off. Then he tried to stay away, but that fight died in Berlin, when he finally let himself believe that Steve still cared about him. That was when he let Steve see that everything of the Bucky from before wasn’t gone.

So Bucky relaxes, lets his mind float, and tries to settle in the moment. He doesn’t know what future holds for him, what it holds for the two of them, but for now he lets it just fade into the background.

***

The sun is setting when Steve finally breaks the silence.

“I was thinking, I might go back to home.”

“You mean Brooklyn.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not the same, not by a long shot, but still. It’s still home, I think.”

“Have you ever been back?” Bucky asks, suddenly curious. Only after it he realizes it’s probably the first question he’s asked about Steve’s life since they reconnected. He hasn’t asked because he never dared, didn’t want to know about the things that he’d likely never truly know. Only now that he’s free it’s a whole another matter.

“No. I mean, when I first woke up I visited, but I haven’t lived there since I left for the war. After SHIELD fell and I moved back to New York I thought of finding a place there, but never got around to doing it. Thought I’d do it now.”

“Find another hole in a wall place?” Bucky asks and finds himself smiling.

“Well, looking at the prices of the apartments there, the rent on those is probably relatively a lot more than it was in our time. But no, I got the army back pay, SHIELD didn’t skimp on its operatives, and Nat and Pepper made me invest, so I’ve got enough.”

“Pepper?” Bucky asks, and isn’t it ridiculous how a mention of a woman he doesn’t know makes him grow cold. And now that he thinks about it, there was that kiss too, another woman in Steve’s life. It’s a reminder that Bucky doesn’t really know much about Steve’s life anymore except that he still doesn’t know how to let go of the fight.

“She’s the CEO of Stark Industries. They were together with Tony, before, and they broke up, or were on a break, I don’t know. Hard to say what is going on between them now. Anyway, if you ever need advice on finances, she’s the one to ask, she’d got a smarter business sense than anyone I know.”

“Yeah, obviously I’ll need that kind of advice soon, with all my spare pennies.” 

It makes Bucky remember that there’s another thing he needs to figure out, how to make a living. For all that he lives in a palace now, he quite literally has nothing. Not many marketable skills either, not in the modern world where a desk job takes hell of a lot more than a high school diploma from the forties. He could go into construction maybe.

“You will,” Steve interrupts his train of thoughts. “After you got pardoned, we reminded them that you too were owed the back pay from seventy years you were a prisoner of war, so. Your bank account is very healthy.”

“Oh.” It’s not at all what Bucky expected, and suddenly there are even more choices in his future. If he’s not pressed for making a living, he can truly find what he wants to do.

“Anyway, I was thinking of getting a townhouse or something, I don’t know.”

“That would be something,” Bucky agrees, and the idea feels ludicrous because it’s so far from anything they ever had, but it also feels right.

“That much space would be a bit lonely though,” Steve says and Bucky’s silly heart picks up.

“I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding company,” Bucky says, and miraculously it doesn’t come out bitter. He reminds himself he has no right to be bitter, when he already lucked out while he was under.

“You’re making me say it, aren’t you?” Steve asks, apparently unaware of Bucky’s internal conflict. “Fine. Will you come and live with me in a ridiculous house in New York, the way we used to talk about when we were kids?”

“You’re sure,” Bucky checks, because it’s too good. And potentially difficult as well.

“Never been more sure of anything,” Steve says, an unreadable look in his eyes that makes Bucky want to squirm.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky agrees, and Steve’s smile could probably light up the whole borough of Brooklyn.

They’re quiet again, and then Steve says into the air, not looking at Bucky, “I think I’m done.”

Bucky looks at him, not quite understanding, but he can tell this is something huge.

“Done with what?”

“Just, you know, all of it. Well, not everything, but just all that’s been my life recently. Fighting. Avenging. SHIELD, HYDRA, whatever. I just want to be me.”

Bucky knows that this then is the source of Steve’s exhaustion, the source of the uncertainty, and he thinks it’s probably good. It also means he was wrong about Steve, he does know how to quit fighting. It means the one familiar part Bucky had is gone and he knows nothing of Steve’s life. And yet, he knows Steve. That will probably never change.

“Then you should,” he just says.

“I mean, if I’m really needed I’ll get back to it,” Steve says, glancing at Bucky, “but I need a break. If I keep going like I have, I don’t think there’s anything left when the time comes.”

“Did you just decide like that? Because if I remember anything, you never wanted to quit.”

“No, not just like that. Sam’s been trying to get me to take a break for better part of three years. And it still feels, selfish, maybe? To just let go when there’s still HYDRA kicking around. But I can’t. I’m done.”

Steve grips his hands together, knuckles white.

“How many times have you nearly died to save this world again? And you never had a break? I think it’s fair to be selfish for a while,” Bucky says, and Steve relaxes. Did he think Bucky was going to admonish him, was that the tension? Steve should remember Bucky would be the last person to do so, but maybe the years they’ve spent apart have taken their toll. They clearly have in other ways. Now that he’s relaxed Steve seems even more exhausted.

“You know, I haven’t painted since before the war,” Steve says, and Bucky’s heart aches again. Has there really been no one to make sure Steve does something other than just fight? Or has Steve just not been listening? Probably the latter.

“Tell me about Brooklyn,” Bucky says, to get Steve back to happier thoughts. “The way it is now.”

Steve starts talking, and Bucky listens, trying to predict the life they’re about to lead, feeling just a little bit hopeful. It’s been a long time since he last felt anything like hope, and it’s only his first day awake.


	2. May 10th 2017

The thunk of Bucky’s fist against the punching bag is satisfying. The Kevlar-reinforced structure has no difficulty withstanding even his metal hand, and he doesn’t have to hold back his strength. He’s been at it for an hour already, and even though he’s not really done burning his energy yet, it’s finally at a manageable level at least. He unwraps his hands and heads up from the basement practice room. These days it feels like he always has too much energy.

It still amazes Bucky how much one can achieve within a month with money and the right connections. Just thirty days earlier he was in Wakanda, just awoken from cryostasis and agreed to come and live with Steve again. Now his head has been fixed and he has a new arm that he is finally allowed to fully use after a period of integration. 

They have a townhouse in Park Slope, and just the idea feels ludicrous. Bucky remembers Becca, fifteen and stubborn, telling him that one day she’ll live in Park Slope. He remembers telling her, “Too rich for our blood.” She hadn’t ended up living there, but she’d done well for herself, and he’s proud of her, even if she has been gone for years now. Most days he can’t decide whether it’s regret or relief he feels over never getting to see her again. Regret, because he used to fit together with her unlike anyone else; even though she’d been four years younger they’d felt more like twins than just siblings after she’d grown into her teens. The relief Bucky feels comes from knowing she never found out what happened to him.

The house really is ridiculous, just as Steve said back in Wakanda, especially considering where they’re coming from. It has four stories and a basement, a garden and a terrace at the back. It’s fully furnished, but their habitation is still new in the way that they haven’t had time to gather clutter, to make it really look like they’re living there. It’s getting there, though.

Bucky makes his way up to his bedroom on the third floor, which is basically his floor altogether. Their library space is also there, and he’s the one that spends more time there. Steve usually just gets the books and reads elsewhere, but Bucky likes it, enjoys spending time in the quiet room at the back of the house. It was probably meant to be a bedroom, and his bedroom something else considering the street noise and amount of light, but Bucky likes it this way, likes to sleep where he’s more aware of what’s happening around the neighborhood. He takes a shower, dresses in comfortable clothes and goes back down to kitchen to get a snack. It’s mid-afternoon, the house is quiet and he’s going stir crazy.

It never used to happen when he lived in Bucharest, even if he didn’t do anything other than he’s doing now, which is nothing too exciting really. Back then it was enough to live a quiet life, but now he’s restless, as if there’s something lacking. He feels like an ungrateful bastard sometimes, because all things considered he’s got more than he deserves, with his freedom and living with Steve. And yet.

Bucky climbs all the way up top, which is Steve’s floor, with his bedroom and studio there. Bucky stops in the middle of the studio, which is very much a work in progress still as well, not cluttered like it will be. There are blank canvases leaning to the wall, paints, brushes, and jars, sketchbooks and papers, pencils, charcoals, and whatever else on shelves. Books of art on the windowsill. There is an unfinished piece on the easel, a few more on the table and leaning to the walls. Nothing is fully finished yet, Bucky thinks so anyway. It’s not surprising; Steve still works as he always used to on his own pieces, building layers over time. The only things he ever did straight to finish were commercial works.

The process is the only thing that’s familiar, otherwise the paintings don’t look much like Steve’s used to do before the war. The colors are bolder now, taking advantage of Steve’s full color vision, and they’re abstract in a way Bucky hasn’t seen. Steve’s work was never entirely realistic, but he’s now moved to much further from it. This is the soul of the new Steve, right in front of Bucky’s eyes. He’s spent hours already looking at the paintings, but he still can’t puzzle much out of them. There is something in them, something that scratches at the back of his head, but he can’t tell yet what it is. Maybe after they’re finished, maybe after he’s seen more.

Bucky hasn’t asked about the new style yet, mostly because he’s got a distinct feeling that it’s a work in process for Steve too, that he’s still figuring out where exactly he wants to go with it. Bucky knows Steve hasn’t painted at all since he left for basic, so he’s getting to see every step of Steve’s progress. It’s fascinating, and it raises questions in him, where has it come from? He can understand the new colors, natural really with Steve’s better vision. He knows Steve always was annoyed by not seeing colors the way most other people did, even though Bucky always though it gave his paintings a sort of dreamy quality. So, the bold colors, especially the kaleidoscope of reds, he can explain, but the abstraction not so much.

Bucky heads back down but pauses at the middle step between his and Steve’s floors, since he can’t figure out what he wants to do. He runs a hand through his hair, somewhat shorter now than he used to have it before the war, curling without product, and sits down right there.

It’s always easier with Steve in the house, even if they’re just doing their own thing, then Bucky feels himself calm down. He also enjoys all the things they can do together now that they’re not desperate for money or running for their lives. They can go for runs in the mornings, eat large breakfasts and watch one of the huge number of TV shows they’ve been recommended. They can just be, and their lives are now calmer than they have ever been.

Today though, Steve left for a late lunch with Sharon Carter, and hasn’t come back yet. Bucky can’t figure out exactly what their relationship is. He remembers the kiss with a startling clarity, but it doesn’t seem that they are together now, even though they do see each other fairly often. He hasn’t gathered the courage to ask, though.

It doesn’t matter really, Bucky tells himself, other than that when Steve is gone and the house is quiet the feeling of being useless, the feeling of not doing enough is all too palpable. There are still dozens of deaths that haunt his consciousness, and despite all he can’t convince himself that it’s okay for him to have this life he’s trying to build, the house he’s living in with Steve.

He heaves himself up and into his bedroom, deciding to try to sleep for a bit, since he didn’t really manage it the previous night, having spent it deep in thought and only emerging as Steve made his way down the stairs for their run.

***

Bucky does actually manage to fall asleep, which means he’s more annoyed than usual when the doorbell rings. He considers ignoring it, but there was a sharp intensity to the ring which often means business. He gets up, glances out of the window and sighs before heading down. Steve’s friends deserve to at least be told he’s not at home.

When he opens the door Romanova is leaning to the railing, for all appearances relaxed, even though Bucky knows it’s not true at all. Wilson is standing a couple of steps down, definitely tense, even though trying to hide it. There is an air of determination in both of them.

“Steve’s not here,” Bucky says.

“We know. We came to talk to you,” Romanova says, and raises her eyebrow when Bucky takes a moment to wrap his head around the unexpected.

He lets them in and offers them drinks. They all end up sitting at the breakfast bar, and no one seems to know how to start. Bucky can’t figure out what they’re doing, why do they want to talk to him without Steve. Can’t figure out why they would want to talk to him at all.

He remembers Romanova from before DC, vaguely. He remembers calling her Natalia, but he doesn’t like to think back to those times. He bets she doesn’t either. And he hasn’t seen much of Wilson, only once since the airport; right after they moved into the house and pretty much everyone they know seemed to pop in at least for a moment. They didn’t really get along after Berlin, and Bucky understands it; Wilson was cautious and thought Steve trusted Bucky too easily, and Bucky didn’t respond that well to the tension. Here in Brooklyn their meeting was much more mellow, but it doesn’t leave much for him to go on.

He wonders if this is Steve’s idea, if he’s staying away deliberately to let them talk. Bucky knows Steve has noticed him being restless, and maybe this is something to do with that. It seems the most logical explanation.

Finally Romanova breaks the silence. “We’re kind of short on hands since Steve decided to take a break.”

Bucky knows immediately where this is going, but he’s going to make them say it, make it clear. “And?”

“And we wanted to ask if you’d come with us after HYDRA.”

“Not sure Steve would think that’s a good idea,” Bucky starts without thinking.

“But Steve’s not here,” Romanova points out again.

“Don’t think what he would want, what do you want?” Wilson says, and Bucky can see the counselor in him.

Truth is, Bucky understands their point. He knows what they mean by it, but at the same time he can’t not think of what Steve would say. After all, he cares in general of Steve’s opinion, wants to live well to deserve his regard. But this isn’t about that, this isn’t something Steve disagrees with on principle.

Maybe Steve would want Bucky to go, maybe he would want Bucky to stay, to be safe, to live a different kind of life away from fighting. Bucky doesn’t quite know. But he understands it doesn’t matter. He knows that in a way he has what he wants, the house and living with Steve; he wants to see where it goes. At the same time, there is still the guilt that gnaws at his insides, the feeling that he doesn’t deserve it. And this might be the solution, going after HYDRA. Maybe that will allow him to be able to live in peace when he’s at home.

“Do you trust me to work with you?” Bucky asks, because he knows if he says yes, they need to. They need to be a team, and that only happens if they can rely on each other, and it means he too will need to trust them.

And he does, he realizes. He trusts them because they’ve stood by Steve, have supported him. He trusts them because Steve does, and he knows Steve has always been good at picking out those he can rely on. Bucky trusts them because they’ve taken the step to ask him.

“We’ve been talking about it, ever since Steve told us he was going to take a break, and the truth is, we choose to. We believe we have a common goal, and we know your priorities,” Romanova says, and Wilson nods. “That is enough.”

Bucky believes them, because trust is a choice, he knows. By definition, it’s not a certainty, it is a belief. “Yes,” he says.

***

They’ve been talking about details for a little more than an hour when the door opens and Steve comes in. He’s got a takeout bag in his hand.

“Good thing I got more than enough food,” Steve just says seeing their guests, and starts handing out the containers.

Bucky gets up to fetch plates, glasses, and drinks, and they all eat together, talking about all kinds of interesting trivialities. No one mentions why Sam and Natasha, as Bucky has started calling them in his head now, are there. Steve doesn’t ask, and no one offers an explanation.

“Did you have a good time on your lunch date?” Natasha asks Steve, her voice layered with things Bucky doesn’t really like to hear.

Steve glares at her, not really angry though. “You should just let it go,” he says.

Bucky still doesn’t know what to make of it, Steve isn’t at all flustered at being poked about dating as Bucky well remembers he used to get. He doesn’t know if it’s because it has become easier for Steve or because there isn’t anything like that between him and Sharon.

***

It’s only hours after Natasha and Sam have left that Bucky finally asks, “Did you ask them to talk to me?”

Steve snorts and glances at Bucky from his corner of the couch. “No. They think I’m coddling you, or holding you back, whichever. So they just waited until they knew I wasn’t at home and came to say their piece. You’re going with them.” It’s not a question.

“Yes. I think it’s the right choice.”

“Yeah, I think so too. You seem about ready to climb up the walls. It’ll give you a purpose, and I think it might be the kind of thing you need.”

“If you’d figured it all out, why didn’t you tell me? Or them?” Bucky asks.

“Well, you’re all adults, you don’t need me to arrange your lives,” Steve says and grins at Bucky, but it’s serious too. “I think it’s better it came from within, it’ll mean you’ll be a tighter team. Besides, I’m on a vacation.”

Steve sinks a bit deeper into the couch, and Bucky doesn’t say anything to it. It occurs to him that in a way all three of them have read Steve wrong, maybe underestimated him a bit. And Bucky shouldn’t have, even though he well knows Steve is a problem solver by nature, always has been. It helps Steve with crafting strategies and would suggest he’d have been keen to point out a solution to Bucky’s restlessness. Bucky also knows that Steve was always good when it came to inter-team relationships, was good at seeing what made people tick in a tight situations, and was able to act accordingly. Clearly he’s still as efficient as ever, having seen that telling them how it should be wouldn’t be the best course of action. Still, Bucky is impressed with the restraint, because Steve never was very patient that way.

It all also reminds Bucky of how it always baffled him that there were other aspects of people and their behavior that Steve didn’t see, didn’t seem to understand. Steve always had a hard time believing someone liked him, but Bucky thinks now it was mostly due to self-esteem issues; that Steve didn’t let himself trust in what he saw. There had been too many disappointments.

Bucky wonders if it’s still true, if Steve still has a hard time believing someone likes him.

He looks at Steve now in the flickering light of the television. Steve still looks tired, although less so than he did in Wakanda, and he doesn’t tend to stare in the middle-distance anymore. It’s a good change, and Bucky’s glad he’s been here to see it, that Steve has allowed him near again. Over the last month they’ve talked about their lives since the war, even though Bucky has stuck mostly to his time after DC, and he understands a bit better where the tiredness has come from.

After he woke up from the ice, Steve almost accidentally assumed a new burden, a new responsibility, and it’s been wearing him down. Both the feeling of purposelessness before DC, and after it having to act in a world that didn’t really want him, even though they needed someone. It’s the same still. Sam mentioned earlier that day that the conflict inside of Steve, of going after HYDRA but having to do it against the Accords has been wearing Steve down.

Bucky knows that Steve on principle agrees that there needs to be some sort of chain of command, a place for the Avengers to fit in the hierarchy of power, and while that’s being created, and in a way it can actually work, where they still retain say over their operations, as opposed to the original form of the Accords, it leaves holes. HYDRA is still active, and someone has to go against them, only no one seems to want to give the order to do so. Hence, Steve and his friends have been acting in the dark, outside of law, because it’s the only way they have to hinder HYDRA, all the while acting against the Accords that Steve wants to make work. No wonder he’s exhausted mentally, this last conflict on top of everything else he’s been through.

At least Steve is taking a break now. Bucky still has a hard time believing it’s actually happening, because ever since he received the serum Steve seems to have shunned idleness, maybe due to the residual resentment stemming from when he used to get sick and was incapable of doing much of anything for weeks at a time.

It makes more sense if Bucky thinks of it as Steve not being idle, but having a different purpose. Bucky reflects on it again as he watches Steve take the last flight of stairs up to the top floor. It’s more accurate too, Steve in a way is driven as ever, only difference really is that the purpose now is all for Steve. He’s finding his way back to the art, and Bucky is truly happy about it.

Bucky is just getting into bed when he hears Steve coming down again and not continuing toward the kitchen, maybe to get a drink as Bucky half expected, but to his door. Bucky opens it without waiting for Steve to knock, Steve knows he’s been heard anyway, and comes to pause at the sight in front of him. 

Steve is wearing his usual sleep clothes, a tank top and pajama pants, but he has the shield in his hands. It’s been repainted, there are no marks left from previous battles and the paint gleams faintly, as bright as it was on that day the Commandos left for their first mission.

Bucky hasn’t asked about what happened to the shield after Siberia, Steve hadn’t had it in Wakanda, so he’d assumed it was in the possession of the government. But here it is, in Steve’s hands, and Bucky doesn’t understand why Steve is offering it to him.

“I’ve been thinking that there should be Captain America,” Steve says, “that the title should endure. And I want it to be you.”

Bucky stares at the shield, not taking it. “I don’t think the US government would agree on me being a good candidate. Besides, with what I’ve done, I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right.”

“But you are,” Steve says, all earnest. “The person that carries the shield should be someone that is loyal to the dream, not someone who’ll follow the whimsy of politics. Captain America needs to be more than that. And precisely because you think you’re not worthy, you’re the right one. Take the shield, carry it the best you can, and if it inspires you to act so that you can see yourself as worthy, then you will also lift it to new purpose.”

It’s not a command, Bucky knows it isn’t, but it isn’t something he can say no to either. He takes the shield, and even though he’s held it countless times before, it feels heavier than it ever has.

“But what about you?” he has to ask. “You said you were taking a break. This feels more like a permanent thing.”

“It is a break. I’ll get back to it when I’m needed, but I don’t need to be Captain America to do that. This here isn’t temporary, I’m giving the shield to you to carry for as long as you can, regardless of what I choose to do from now on.”

Bucky looks at the shield for a moment, and draws a deep breath. He’s doing this all right.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to take this to the HYDRA bases,” he says. 

“Well, your choice, and I haven’t either, not for those. But it’s not all that’ll call you, I think. There’ll be a time for you to carry it in the open. But whether it’s with you or not, you’re still Captain America.”

Steve leaves him then, going back up to his room. Bucky listens until Steve has gone to bed, and then closes his door and carefully sets the shield down to lean to the foot of his bed. It’s been an overwhelming day, but then again he feels good too, not restless like he has.

He resolves to make pancakes for breakfast the next day, since Steve likes them but doesn’t like making them for some reason, and closes his eyes. Sleep finds him almost instantaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was an entirely self-indulgent haircut for Bucky there, you'll find out about Steve's hair situation in the next chapter.


	3. June 10th 2017

A month into Bucky’s new career as a vigilante he’s holed up in a safehouse in Kiev. It’s the first longer mission they’ve set on since Bucky decided to come along; before this all he’s done is planning and short term recon. They have a HYDRA cell at their sights, and are getting ready to take it down. All the preparations are finished, the surveillance equipment is set up and connected to the internal cameras of the enemy base, and now they’re waiting for everything to fall into place. It should be another couple of days waiting, then the hit and a day more for clean-up before Bucky can go back home.

He’s sleeping better these days, the jittery sense of not deserving the life he’s leading is mostly gone. Bucky thinks it’ll be there, somewhere in the background, for a long time, but now it’s manageable. It feels like there is a balance, that since he’s doing something to make the world better, he deserves to have the peaceful life with Steve.

Bucky’s sitting in front of their computer setup, keeping a cursory eye on the proceedings of HYDRA. It’s not really necessary, since the surveillance is controlled by an AI, which has definitely nothing whatsoever to do with Tony Stark, since the Avengers officially are not actively going after HYDRA. It’s very helpful, and intellectually Bucky knows it’ll catch everything, unlike he can, because there are limits to his perception, despite the degree of his training. Still, it makes him more comfortable to also keep an eye on things, and there’s nothing else that needs to be done anyway, so he might as well sit there for the peace of his mind.

Sam and Natasha are making lunch, because Sam declared earlier he was bored with take-out. Mostly them making lunch consists of Sam doing the cooking and Natasha sitting on the kitchen table, talking to him and sometimes chopping up things with frightening speed. They are getting immersed into it, relaxing, and Bucky finally sees why Steve told him not to get exasperated by their adorableness. They rather are, now that they’re forgetting to keep up the professional barrier that they have on most of the time. It is a clear sign that they trust Bucky, that they can relax enough to forget to keep the distance. Bucky knows Steve hasn’t talked about it with them, probably because the whole thing seems to be new, but he isn’t Steve.

“Steve was right to warn me that the two of you are disgustingly cute. I hope the food is going to be good at least to compensate,” Bucky says.

Sam and Nat pause what they’re doing, look at him and then at each other, clearly a bit lost for words. She looks back at Bucky again, considering, while Sam finds his ability to talk.

“The food will be awesome, is what it is.”

“Steve warned you?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“You’re supposed to be the master deceiver here,” Sam grouses at Nat, but smiles too, clearly not that upset they’ve been found out.

“You’re keeping it pretty well under wraps, it only comes out when you’re more relaxed,” Bucky tells them. “And even now I wouldn’t have been sure if Steve hadn’t said anything. But I think it’s probably more obvious for him, since he knows the two of you better, and besides,” he looks at Natasha, “I think you don’t want to hide things from him anymore, so.”

She sidesteps the last bit. “But why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Why would he? It’s your business, not his, so as long as you don’t talk about it, he won’t.”

“Yeah, but Steve talks about this kind of stuff, people’s personal things,” Sam points out, and Bucky can tell this is a case where Sam wonders if Steve has changed, if it’s one of the things Bucky doesn’t know anymore. And it’s fair, because there are things like that, there are times when Bucky feels like he’s playing catch up, and it’s just wrong, because it’s Steve. Even after everything, there’s still the sense that he should know everything about Steve. On the other hand, Bucky knows Steve is still having to adjust to him too, so they’re really on the same boat. However, even though Natasha and Sam have spent a lot more time with Steve since he woke up from the ice, what they lack is knowledge from before, the context it gives. Bucky has that.

“I know he does, but it’s when the personal stuff interferes with something he’s responsible for, like the work or missions, or if someone he knows is troubled and needs support on that front. But the two of you are fine, and it’s not getting in the middle of everything else, so he’s leaving it alone until you choose to talk about it.”

“That makes sense,” Nat admits. “Do you know why he’s like that?”

Bucky smiles, bit by bit they’re getting more comfortable with each other, and this kind of personal discussion between the three of them is still new. Figures it is about Steve now that they’re actually getting to it, and maybe he should feel guilty, analyzing his friend behind his back, but then again Bucky doesn’t think Steve minds him telling these kinds of things to Sam and Natasha. And maybe it will have some benefit too, for all that Steve is very comfortable with them.

“It’s, well, it has to do with back when he received the serum. It was really weird for him, because before that people in general didn’t really care about him, and after the serum everyone was suddenly getting into his business. The change was jarring, and he didn’t much like it, never really got used to it during the war either. That’s why he usually gives people space, because that’s what he likes for himself too. So even if he doesn’t talk about stuff, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed, or doesn’t care.”

“Noted,” Sam says. “Is this your subtle instruction to leave him alone on occasion?”

“It might be,” Bucky says and grins at Nat, who grimaces at him. For all that Steve trusts and likes her, not to mention confides in her a lot, Bucky knows that sometimes Steve thinks she pokes at his barriers rather too much.

They all get back to what they were doing. Resuming surveillance, Bucky notes HYDRA is still blissfully unaware of them, going about their business as usual.

“Although, if you break up and end up miserable, then Steve will get in on it, fair warning,” Bucky throws out to cap the discussion.

Sam makes an exaggerated grimace, even when he clearly wants to laugh, and Natasha gives Bucky a dorky salute, smiling for real.

***

After lunch Sam takes a nap; he needs the rest since he was up during the night doing some recon. With him in the other room it’s just Bucky and Natasha, and he suddenly realizes it’s the first time the two of them are alone and awake since Bucky got to know who he really is, after meeting Steve in DC smashed through all the barriers in his mind.

Bucky hasn’t quite figured out what the connection between the Red Room and HYDRA was. He knows they weren’t the same organization, but there was an understanding between the Russian faction of HYDRA and the Red Room. He remembers how he was used to train their operatives, remembers training her, just a slip of a girl in the turbulent time of breaking of the Soviet Union. He remembers there were a lot of things told to the girls that he knew were lies, and for the most part he didn’t do anything about it.

With her though, he always paid more attention for some reason. He was harder with her than anyone else, because he knew it was the only way he had to help her. The only way for her to succeed would be if she was tougher than anyone else, more skilled and efficient, and if she couldn’t take the training, then it would be better that way anyway. But she did, she got through everything, and Bucky, who back then was anything but Bucky, taught her everything he knew, every skill he had, everything she would need to make it through.

And here she is now, on her own, calling the shots years after the Red Room perished in infighting and trying to take her back after she decided to leave. Bucky finds now that he is proud of her, more than he can express.

Still, it is odd to be with her without a buffer between them, aware of all the things they have been to each other. He remembers the closeness, the forbidden passion that took over when he met her again after ice, suddenly a woman with sharp eyes and confidence the girl had only been beginning to grasp. It felt like no time at all had passed since he’d trained her, since she’d been just a girl, but there she was again, all grown up. For anyone else it might have been odd, but not him, he’d been used to the time skips long before. He just accepted that the girl he’d known had grown up and adjusted to the new reality as he always did.

Their affair didn’t last long, moments really, and they were punished for it, and his memories were taken away. Soon after he was shipped away to America to work with the men in suits and the SHIELD teams that had a whole another agenda. It’s only now that everything in general is coming back that he remembers her as well.

It all belongs to past now. Once there was a time when they were the most important people to each other, but back then neither one of them were themselves. She was what they’d made her, not yet the Natasha she has built over it. He was then what they’d reduced him into, no longer Bucky. Their intimacy belongs to that time, to a time when they were something else.

Now, they can work together, they can be there for each other, and Bucky thinks they always will be. But they no longer are the touchstone for each other, they’ve both moved on.

“Are you happy?” Natasha suddenly asks him, raising her eyes from her book.

Bucky has to think of it for a moment. “No,” he finally answers. “But I think I can be, in time.”

“I think I’m on my way too,” she says, and he nods.

It’s good; they’re both finding their place in the world, no longer connected the way they used to be, but still here. It’s more than Bucky ever expected to get, more than he once knew how to hope for.

***

Later that afternoon Natasha slips away to gather more information, to see if they should be getting ready to go that night already, since it seems HYDRA have suddenly become more agitated. Bucky is left alone with Sam, and it is at least as strange as being left alone with Natasha, albeit for very different reasons.

They haven’t spent much time together at all outside of while being on task, and despite the fact that Sam showed up at their house a month earlier and told Bucky he shouldn’t care about what Steve thought, only what he felt was right for himself, there’s still the knowledge that within their group, Sam is first and foremost Steve’s friend. He might be on the process of becoming more Natasha’s now rather than Steve’s, but when it comes to Bucky and Steve, it is clear where he stands.

There is a large part of Bucky that is grateful that Steve managed to find such a trustworthy friend, someone that will have his back no matter what, in battle and in life in general. Sam has been inherent in the process of Steve being able to take a break, he has been there every step of the way for the last few years, and that is a problem too for Bucky, for all that he tries to pretend it isn’t. 

Bucky has countless memories of Steve from before the war, of a time when he was the only friend Steve had, and he knows it makes him a terrible friend, but it just feels off in a way that it isn’t like that anymore, that he isn’t any longer the only one Steve confides in. Bucky tries to sit on the feeling, tries to banish it from his mind, but it’s still true. It mystifies him a bit, because he also remembers the wartime, specifically remembers how it wasn’t a problem at all for him that Steve suddenly had a whole team. This should be the same, he thinks, but it isn’t. Not at all.

Outside of his less than reasonable apprehension, Bucky finds he trusts Sam. They work well together, the two of them along with Natasha complement each other, and they’re all driven to get the job done. It is a comfortable existence, to have a team that is there with him and for him, not just to make sure he fulfills the objective. It’s a whole another dynamic, both new and familiar at the same time. He had something like it during the war, but he’s only really started to remember the significance now that he has it again, has started to remember the camaraderie of the Commandos.

He also thinks that all three of them feel like there’s something missing now that Steve isn’t there, for all that every single one of them would physically sit on Steve if it was the only way to get him to take a break.

Bucky is a bit surprised, honestly, that on the surface it hasn’t been difficult at all with Sam, that both of them have been able to leave behind the animosity that plagued their interaction during that short time from Berlin to Leipzig. All that remains are the things Bucky struggles with inside, and he keeps them quiet because Sam doesn’t deserve his irrational reservations. Bucky doesn’t want to be someone to cause an undue distress on anyone.

Sometimes he wonders if Sam struggles with similar things, if he’s apprehensive of Bucky and Steve living together, and just doesn’t show it. Bucky doesn’t know, nor is he going to ask. Not now at least. Maybe at some point, maybe when it’s only something from the past, not something he’s actively struggling with. 

So they don’t talk about those kinds of things, but they do talk; about the upcoming mission, about Ukrainian TV, about the weird hairstyles the HYDRA operatives seem to be all sporting on their surveillance feed, and Bucky lets himself fall into the ease of it. He finds himself laughing at Sam’s jokes, finds himself telling something about Steve from back in the day, and bit by bit he forgets the apprehension, just for now.

Maybe this is the way, he thinks, maybe the way to stop feeling like an outsider in Steve’s new life is to actively allow himself sink into it, make it his new life as well, make it something that’s his for real, not just his through Steve.

Maybe this way he can really start thinking of their home as theirs, instead of it belonging to Steve, and him just happening to live there for now. Maybe this way, he can start believing in permanence.

***

Turns out they’re indeed going that night, which suits Bucky just fine since he’ll get home sooner. The last thing Bucky does before starting to get ready for the hit is check his secure email. As expected, there is a message from Steve, because there is at least one every day. The messages are snippets from Steve’s life, sometimes short, just a few words, sometimes whole stories, sometimes pictures. There are never questions, never mentions of what Bucky is doing. There are never reminders to be careful, never a hint of worry in them.

Yet Bucky knows Steve does worry.

It occurs to him that he’s never really had to go through something like Steve is living now, staying behind while the other goes to battle. And although it’s now Steve’s choice, it probably doesn’t make it any easier to stay behind while Bucky is putting himself at risk.

Granted, there were the two years after DC when Bucky was hiding and Steve was very actively an Avenger, but back then Bucky wasn’t quite Bucky, not the way he is now. He had been  _ a _ Bucky, but his past hadn’t fully connected as it does now, it had been data instead of a truth that is carved right inside him.

After Bucky had enlisted Steve had fought so hard to be allowed to come too, had managed it even when it should have been impossible. Back then, Bucky never would have thought he’d see a day when Steve backed down, but the world has been harder than he ever could have known on both of them, and now they are dealing with it the best they can.

But at least they are dealing with it, present and together, looking straight at the reality and not pretending it’s not there, not pretending things are easier than they are.

This night, the message is short, and it makes Bucky laugh, bright enough that Natasha and Sam look at him, questioning. Bucky shows it to them, Steve saying,  _ I’m going to grow a beard, _ and wants to laugh even more as the two of them clearly try to figure out how to take it.

Steve is different now, different from the man Bucky knew during the war, different from the man he found standing in his shabby apartment in Bucharest, different from the man that sat next to his bed in Wakanda as he recovered from cryostasis. Bucky likes this new Steve. Granted, he’s liked every version of Steve he’s known, but he likes the deliberate letting go of duty, the familiar determination directed at finding things he enjoys.

Bucky likes how Steve is living for himself now, likes that Steve finally allows it for himself.

He puts the phone away and starts the meticulous process of getting ready, pulling on the body armor, checking that everything is holding up, buckling on the holsters and making sure he has all the weapons he needs. Sam and Natasha are doing the same, all of them quiet, focused. Bucky likes this too, likes the purpose, likes how he feels calm not only while in action, but in between too. He likes how he can sleep in his own bed and not feel like he’s getting away with something he doesn’t deserve.

They’re all ready, and the last thing they do is pause at the door, looking at each other. They don’t need to say the words, because they all know.

They’re going to make sure they take HYDRA down, and that they will all go home afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next chapter is the first from Steve’s side of the story, [here is a direct link](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/25530594) to his 99th birthday.


	4. July 10th 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This verse is canon divergent on how the thing with Accords worked out, but everything else going on in MCU happens, just adjusted. Because of this, the events of _Spider-Man: Homecoming_ happened also in this verse (even though the timeline of Peter’s story is a bit different, since the movie is set at fall instead of summer), and are referred to as after the fact in this chapter. The spoilers are extremely vague, nothing about the major reveals or character stuff, and shouldn’t affect enjoying the movie (which is really fun).

It’s past midnight, Bucky doesn’t actually know how much past, when he makes it home. The house is quiet, most of the lights are turned off, exception being those in the stairwell. He’d let Steve know he might be back this night, and clearly Steve’s left them on just in case. 

He goes to the basement first to leave most of his gear and weapons in the locked storage room there, taking only one handgun and two knives up with him. There are other weapons spread around the house, tucked out of sight albeit easily reachable, but Bucky likes to have his favorites close by.

He can hear nothing from Steve’s floor above him as he shuffles into his room. The shield is reflecting the streetlights at the foot of his bed where he left it, and the idea that he’s now Captain America still feels weird and foreign. So far the responsibility hasn’t felt heavy, but he knows that day will come too.

He strips mechanically, takes a shower and pulls on a clean pair of sweatpants, but doesn’t leave the bathroom. He stays leaning on the table, staring at his reflection on the mirror. He’s not too used to looking at himself these days, sometimes it’s almost too difficult, but he does it nonetheless. This night he sees the new steadiness that’s been growing inside him in his eyes, even now that he’s exhausted to the bone after two intense weeks on the road, taking out one HYDRA base and finding leads to another and going after it without a pause. He’s tired, but he doesn’t find it in himself to go to bed, he’s too keyed up still, unable to come down from the mission mindset, and so he stays in the bathroom as minutes tick by.

He hears Steve moving, coming down the stairs, pausing at his level, but Bucky doesn’t say anything, and Steve continues all the way down to the kitchen. Bucky hasn’t moved at all by the time Steve comes back up and to the door of his bathroom. He meets Steve’s eyes in the mirror but doesn’t have words right then.

Steve pulls him away from the sink, his warm hands running over Bucky’s ribs, turning him this way and that. Bucky wants to just sink into the touch, casual and intimate, and he’s so keyed to the sensation that it takes him a while to realize Steve is checking him for injuries.

“I’m fine, just some bumps and bruises, nothing more.”

Steve hums in acknowledgment, but still continues checking for himself. Bucky doesn’t try to stop him, since it’s the most pleasant thing he’s felt in weeks. Steve’s eyes are sleepy, and his beard no longer looks odd to Bucky, he’s gotten used to it enough. It’s over all too soon, Steve stepping out of the bathroom, and Bucky finally finds it in himself to follow.

“Natasha and Sam are okay too,” he says, because it’s something to fill the space.

Steve takes a bottle of Gatorade from the table and pours it into a glass that he hands to Bucky. They must have been the reason he went down to kitchen. “Drink that. And I know, Sam sends me status updates on all three of you, he’s the only one I trust to tell the truth.”

“Yet you checked for yourself,” Bucky points out and drinks, the electrolytes hitting immediately. He must be more dehydrated than he thought.

“Yeah, well, it’s different to know something, and actually seeing with your own eyes,” Steve says, and Bucky is reminded again that Steve worries over them, probably more now that he’s staying behind. It’s understandable, if their places were exchanged, Bucky would worry too.

Still, Steve looks relaxed and content, face smooth and without stress, no signs of the pinched look in his eyes Bucky saw when he woke up from stasis in Wakanda. The three months since then have treated Steve kindly, the change visible, and it makes Bucky even happier. 

“We missed your birthday,” he says and downs the last of the Gatorade.

They did; they’d fully intended to make it back home on the fourth, but they’d found a lead toward more HYDRA activity, and they couldn’t afford for it to go cold. Bucky had been miserable for the whole day, feeling like he’d betrayed something even when taking down HYDRA is something Steve fully endorses, and Natasha and Sam had been subdued as well. The feeling had dissipated a little when he talked to Steve in the evening in New York time, and Steve hadn’t sounded sad or disappointed. He’d said that it had been a good birthday for all that he would have wanted the three of them to be there, and it hadn’t sounded like a lie.

“Yeah, well, we missed yours too in the spring,” Steve just says and hands a cold water bottle to Bucky. “It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re all back.”

“Yeah, me too. We’re probably not going back to the field for while now, it seems to be more quiet. So unless there’s some kind of crisis, it’s home for now.”

Steve’s smile is warm and happy. “Good.” He looks at Bucky then, assessing, as if he can see right inside him. “Will you sleep if I stay awake with you, keep watch?”

Bucky’s not surprised that Steve has noticed he’s too keyed up from the mission to relax, the hypervigilance still too near to the surface of his mind, and he’s not surprised by the question either. Part of him wants to decline, wants to tell Steve he’s fine, but he stops himself before the words make it out of his mouth. Steve wouldn’t take it anyway, wouldn’t believe him, and he is tired.

“I can try,” Bucky says instead.

He gets into bed, and Steve settles down to sit on the other half of it, on top of the covers but close enough that Bucky can feel him there. Steve starts reading something on his tablet and Bucky finds himself drifting, sinking deeper toward sleep in no time.

***

The sun is up but it’s still early when Bucky wakes up. Steve is still reading in bed next to him, resting more against the pillows now, as if he’s gradually slid down during the hours. He hasn’t noticed Bucky is awake yet, Bucky having learned a long time ago how to move from one state of consciousness to next without his outward appearance changing, enabling him to assess the situation without alerting a potential observer.

Now Bucky stays where he is, much closer to Steve than he was when he fell asleep, his face a bare inch from Steve’s side, one hand resting on the mattress against Steve’s thigh. He’s slept for about five hours, which is enough that he’s fully alert and capable of anything required if a sudden crisis hits, but not yet feeling well-rested.

Not that he’ll manage to fall asleep again any time soon. There’s still a thread of the restlessness inside him, he’s still keyed up due to the mission, and now that the most immediate exhaustion is dealt with, it’s again closer to surface. It helped to have Steve next to him to tide him over the worst of it, to get him to fall asleep in the first place. Had he been alone, he would have stayed awake until he passed out due to exhaustion, something that happened all too regularly in Bucharest. It’s another welcome change in his circumstances.

Bucky makes himself roll onto his back, away from the comfortable warmth radiating from Steve. He stretches himself, makes a mental note of all the little aches and twinges. There are some sore spots, some stiff muscles, but nothing that would hinder him in any way.

Steve is looking at him now, the tablet resting on his lap. “Morning. Breakfast or run?”

Bucky considers it. A run would help with calming his nerves, would help him settling back into home life, but he didn’t eat after coming back the previous night, and he’s suddenly ravenous. He knows he could go for a run and keep up a normal pace, has performed missions more hungry than this, even if he didn’t really understand hunger then, but now that he’s free and has agency over himself, he doesn’t want to. “Definitely food.”

They make a stack of pancakes with a whole package of bacon on the side, and cut up a large plate of fruit. Steve has bought some new coffee, the aroma rich and the taste smooth and chocolaty. They eat everything, and while they do Steve catches Bucky up on what has been going on in New York, including Wanda having been over to educate him on the matters of their backyard garden. Apparently they have a lot of herbs in there, just about running wild. There was some kind of a wannabe supervillain attack too that Bucky had seen in the news while going after HYDRA.

“What was that thing in Coney Island, we heard it had something to do with Stark and that Spider-kid?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, that,” Steve grimaces. “I’m glad it’s not my mess to clean up. It was to do with criminals getting their hands on Chitauri tech, making weapons and selling them, but it’s all sorted out now. The beach is trashed, though, and the Parachute Jump is history.”

“Damn, that’s rude.”

“Yeah, could have been worse, though, since the plane landed on beach and not in the neighborhood. And there was that thunderstorm on the night of the fourth, so there was no one left at the crash site.”

“Right.” Bucky grabs another pancake. “And when you said it wasn’t your mess to clean up, you meant you’ve been down there working on the beach every day, right?”

“Not like I’ve got anything better to do. Besides, it’s good to help that way, making the neighborhood nicer, repairing things.”

After the meal Steve takes Bucky up to his studio, and shows him a painting of Wanda he’s just finished. It’s not as abstract as most of Steve’s art these days, it’s clear she’s depicted to be sitting near the window in the studio, sun falling on her and tendrils of red dancing all around. It’s not exactly a true to life portrait either; it’s a portrait of  _ her, _ showing more than just her surface. The reds are similarly vibrant as they are in all of Steve’s new work.

Bucky grins at Steve, not really having words for it, but clearly Steve understands what he means.

“Are you going to paint more portraits now?”

“Probably, I’ve always liked trying to catch the inner life of a person. It was nice showing this to her as well.”

Bucky knows that for all that he has pretty much free reign in the studio, Steve hasn’t really shown his work to others, hasn’t brought other people to see them up until apparently Wanda. Bucky knows Natasha has probably seen the studio, but not due to Steve showing her, so it’s different. It’s something Steve has guarded very carefully, is only now letting himself back into it again, and he’s probably hesitant to let other people in on it, for all that they’d be supportive.

Bucky suddenly remembers something. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

He makes a quick round trip to his room and comes back with a flat cardboard box tied with a string that he hands to Steve, who opens it to find sheets of heavy, handmade paper.

To Steve’s questioning look, Bucky says, “We ended up picking up the last HYDRA agent from upstairs of a traditional art supply store in Kyoto. Thought you’d like them.”

He doesn’t say they’re a birthday present, but they are, and Steve is obviously pleased, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you.”

They go back down, and Bucky relishes in the feeling of the casual closeness they have reached. It’s not like back before the war, it’s something that suits the men they’ve become, and it’s all the more valuable for him to have something like it back.

***

Leaving Steve to his business, Bucky goes to see about his gear. He conditions the leather, makes sure there are no rips in the Kevlar, and cleans and oils his weapons. He’s restless afterward, thinks about taking it on the punching bag but doesn’t feel like it, and ends up going back to Steve’s studio.

Steve’s not working, he’s arranging his things, the way he does usually when he’d like to get something done but nothing inspires him. When Bucky comes in Steve glances at him before turning to really look at him, assessing his status before moving to leave the studio.

“Get your training suit, we’re going to get some exercise. And bring the shield.”

“You’re not going to Coney Island today?”

“They can make it for one day without me while I hang out with my best friend. And you can make it up by coming tomorrow with me.”

Bucky does as instructed, getting into the training suit that is padded and restrictive like the one he wears on the field, but not as hot as it’s not constructed to be bulletproof. It is odd to wear anything that feels like going to the field without weapons, so he tucks one knife in the boot holster.

It’s not like he’ll be without a weapon anyway, he thinks, lifting up the shield. So far it’s stayed in his room ever since Steve gave it to him, and Bucky knows it’s a good idea for him to get practice with it, for when he’ll need to use it for real. He’ll need to feel like it belongs on his arm instead of like an impostor. Bucky suspects it’ll take some time.

Steve meets him at the door, and they get into the truck, Steve driving toward north. Bucky doesn’t ask where they’re headed, he knows he’ll see soon enough, and it’s frankly good to be able to trust someone so much that he can just go with it, not needing to fear he’ll end up somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

The drive takes nearly two hours, and they stop on the way at a diner since they both get a hankering for burgers. Bucky’s milkshake turns out to be excellent. Finally they turn on a smaller road, but Bucky can see the surveillance network around them, and it’s not surprising when they arrive at the Avengers facility. Bucky of course has known about it, but hasn’t actually been there yet.

“One of the practice rooms here has been equipped for shield training among other things, with shifting obstacles. I checked and no one is using it today.”

Bucky trails after Steve, taking in everything around him. There are people moving about, busy with their own work even though they all greet Steve. Steve knows all their names, but doesn’t stop to talk. 

They finally come to a large room, and Steve closes the door after them.

“FRIDAY, shield training mode, please.”

Bucky hears the door lock behind him, and there’s a hint of unease until he glances back and makes sure there’s a manual release. Locking the door is a good precaution; they don’t need someone walking in and getting brained by the shield. There are obstacles, poles and walls, rising up from the floor and coming down from the ceiling, as well as targets marked on some of them.

“Here, I had this made for you.”

Bucky looks back to Steve who has opened the bag he brought and taken out a harness for the shield. It makes sense for Steve to have thought about it, Bucky has heard stories about the first Captain America outfit SHIELD gave to Steve, made without his input. For all that Steve thought was wrong about it, the one thing that had bothered him the most had been the fact there was no way to carry the shield on his back, making it very inconvenient since he either had to put it down or have one of his hands taken. Bucky is honestly baffled no one had thought to make a harness, considering the most iconic image of Steve from the war is one where the shield is at his back. 

Bucky pulls the harness on, it fits perfectly of course, and rolls his shoulders, getting used to the new kind of restriction. It takes him a few tries to master hooking the shield up, but when he has it on his back, it suddenly feels just a bit more natural, less like he’s pretending. It also feels incredibly safe, to know that there’s a lot smaller target now if someone wants to shoot him from behind. They’d have to hit him in the head to do any serious damage.

They get to the actual training then. Steve makes him stand on the spot and try to catch the shield after two ricochets without having to move. It’s not difficult to hit something with the shield, Bucky could do that with his eyes closed, but making sure it always comes back is a whole another level. One has to consider the angles and materials and spin, as well as the strength of the throw, and it’s a lot of data to process instantly. There are similar elements to sniping, except it’s more complicated with the shield.

Bit by bit Bucky starts to see it though, as if a map is being laid out over the room, the paths for the shield becoming visible. Steve grins at him, obviously seeing Bucky is getting it, and they move to the next part in training, throwing it between them, finding new ricochets, taking out targets.

After three hours the shield feels a lot more familiar in Bucky’s hands. He’s not yet fully ready, not at Steve’s level, not even where Steve was during the war, but now he could go out with it and not embarrass himself, which is good enough for one day.

They eat at the compound, chatting with Vision, who’s been living there all the while, and Wanda, who seems to have taken a break from her travels for now. They head back toward home when they’re done.

In the car Bucky feels relaxed, the mission related jitters gone with the exercise. The training also gave him back something he’d forgotten. It had been fun, trying new techniques, and at the end really just playing with it. He’d forgotten what it’s like, since for so long everything had been task oriented, and even now that he can live and relax in peace, practice has still been all about getting ready for missions or burning up frustration. It’s like he’s been given a gift, a whole new dimension.

It’s the first time in a long while that honing his skills wasn’t tied to matters of life and death, and now he’s starting to think that maybe he can move on in a way he hadn’t considered, maybe he can put his time under HYDRA behind him, to not have it haunt him every time he’s fighting. Maybe he can be something else than the specter they created, something that’s still carved inside him even though he’s taken his agency back.

Steve has known it all along, Bucky thinks, it’s probably why he gave the shield to Bucky in the first place. Steve has known there is a way for Bucky to fight for what he believes without having to carry the past around his neck all the time, and he’s helping Bucky reach it. Bucky will never forget his road to this point, it will never be erased, but it feels good to know that even the fighter aspect of him isn’t indefinitely tied to his past, that there are new starts with everything.

***

Their doorbell rings in the evening just as they’re discussing what they should do about dinner, and when Bucky goes to get it Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Sharon all barge in carrying pizza, beer and a cake. They barely greet him before asking for Steve, and they all descend on him, declaring they’re having his birthday now.

“By all means, do come in,” Bucky mutters to himself as he closes the door, but he finds himself smiling, happy that Steve gets to have a birthday with all of them after all, even if it’s not the right day.

It’s a fun night; they eat on the terrace, enjoying the last sun of the day when it’s no longer too hot. They talk about all kinds of things, stories from the past but only fun ones. Bucky is relaxed even though he’s only really gotten used to Natasha and Sam. He’s seen Sharon a few times but not spent much time with her, and Wanda has been abroad, but he feels comfortable with them nonetheless. It’s easy, and he eats, drinks, talks, and laughs, and it’s all so normal, just spending time with friends. 

Steve is obviously happy throughout, and again Bucky marvels at how different he looks from when they first moved to New York, how the stress seems to have evaporated from him. It’s a good look, and Bucky can’t help but feel a little wistful again, the old want raising its head once more. 

It’s not new for him to deal with it, how he likes Steve in a way he maybe shouldn’t. It’s different these days though, because the options no longer are just not going for it or hiding. Now, if they wanted, they could be open about it, and it makes it an entirely different thing to handle. Not that it changes anything fundamentally; Steve has never looked at Bucky as more than a friend, doesn’t now either. So Bucky deals with it, and he isn’t even bitter about it. It is what it is, and he’s happy enough to live here with Steve, to have what he now does.

He has sometimes thought that it might get strange once Steve finds someone he really likes, but Bucky dealt with it when it was Peggy, and he can do it again. Granted, when Peggy was in the picture there was war, and they didn’t have an occasion to actually date, but it had been as much a done deal as anything, Bucky had known it.

Now, seeing them actually interact for longer than just moments, Bucky can tell Steve and Sharon are just friends, even if Natasha looks at them funnily sometimes. He asks about it from Steve when they’re in the kitchen getting more drinks for the group to have with the cake, and Steve laughs, clearly amused.

“Nat’s miffed because she worked to get us together and then it turned out that we make better friends. I like Sharon, but there’s nothing more than that. I guess it’s about some weird sort of professional pride for Nat.”

It all makes sense to Bucky then, how Steve and Sharon seemed to be unsure of each other but not anymore, if they were learning how to go about being friends after trying to be more, and the whole thing about Natasha is funny. It also reminds Bucky that he needs to keep his feelings in check, because if he doesn’t, she will know, and he isn’t at all inclined to have her meddle in it. It would be entirely too weird, considering their shared past.

They all stay for hours, even after the mood gets more quiet and discussion patchy. It’s still comfortable to just be and watch the night fall, occasionally make a remark on something. Bucky sits in the corner of their outdoor sofa, with Steve next to him talking to Wanda about something she’d seen while she was in South Korea. Nat and Sharon are talking shop, about some interrogation technique that Bucky probably knows but he doesn’t bother listening to it, and Sam seems to be actually asleep.

Bucky slides down a bit on his seat, takes a pull of his beer and decides it’s been a good day. His knee bumps at Steve’s as he shifts, and Steve gives it a small squeeze, apparently just because, not even pausing his conversation with Wanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since seeing the Avengers I’ve had the headcanon that since putting the shield on his back should be pretty much a reflex for Steve, with the Avengers suit he ended up trying to do it even though he didn’t have a harness. And the shield dropped on his heels and he cursed the air blue:D
> 
> Chronologically the next one is the second chapter from Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/26359926).
> 
> The next chapter of this fic will be posted on August 10th.
> 
> I’m also on [tumblr](http://stellahibernis.tumblr.com/post/159422939842/forget-the-dragon)


	5. August 10th 2017

Bucky’s at the Avengers Facility, training with the shield alone this time. He started out early in the morning, leaving the same time as Steve did for his morning run. He’s been up a few times since he came with Steve for the first time, getting in some practice. The missions he’s been running with Natasha and Sam technically aren’t Avenger missions and don’t show up anywhere on the databases, but his presence doesn’t raise any eyebrows. After all he’s a superhero too, and since his pardon he knows no one will bat an eye to see him up if there’s some kind of crisis.

Frankly, Bucky thinks it would raise eyebrows if there was some sudden crisis and he wasn’t there, since he knows there are a lot of people who think he should be making amends at the very least. He doesn’t really disagree, but it’s an odd feeling to know other people think so. Because of this, him being at the facility is a little bit of a show too, and Natasha actually once told him the UN staff overseeing things have appeared relieved since he began to show up, his presence indicating he’s not likely to run away or go against them. Bucky can do it to make them feel at ease, and besides, the facilities are good for practice, the best there are. Only downside is the travel time from home, but he can deal with it since he only comes once a week or so.

Every time Bucky trains with the shield his thoughts return to the contrast between now and when he was the Winter Soldier, how he’s now practicing sometimes just for the sake of it, how it’s not always directly about action and consequence. Many of his motivations for what he does still hang on the idea of atonement, but bit by bit he’s getting used to the idea of doing this just for itself, because he wants to make the world safer and not because it’s his duty. Or maybe it is his duty, but one he’s chosen for himself, nothing forced on him. It’s not all about his time with HYDRA, he can now be motivated by the same reasons he always had for choosing to stand up for others, be it in the back alleys of Brooklyn or the enlistment center during the war. The difference now is that he can do a lot more than the boy from Brooklyn, even when he doesn’t really consider it more worthy. He’s still firmly of the opinion that the best thing he ever did was to get in the scrap between boys and take Steve’s side all those years ago.

They’re getting ready again for another mission with Sam and Natasha, this one closer to home, meaning the actual time they need to be away will be some days at most. On one hand Bucky likes it, long weeks on the road are still not his favorite, and he likes sleeping in his own bed, food that’s not questionable take-out or rations, and clean clothes. On the other hand, part of him rather wants to get away for a while.

There’s been this weird tension in the house, between him and Steve for a while now, and it doesn’t help that he knows it’s his own fault. Nor does it help he knows exactly why it’s happening. He’s just a bit on the edge all the time and he doesn’t know how to stop. Steve of course can feel it, which makes the problem compound. A theory he has is that if there was just a bit of distance between them, like a mission taking him away for a couple of weeks, he’d be able to sort it all out in his head, and they’d go back to normal. Or they wouldn’t, but it doesn’t look like he’ll find out anytime soon.

His reserved time slot nears an end, so he starts gathering his things and lets FRIDAY reset the room. As soon as the locks open, Natasha slips in, and Bucky sighs, because if he were to distribute blame, it would go toward her, unfair as that might be.

The weirdness started with her suggesting yet another date to Steve, and also making a point that if Steve was looking for someone, now that he’s taking a break would be a good time. Which is solid reasoning, and she’s right about the fact that Steve ultimately does want to find someone. Bucky knows it too, and he, really and truly, wants it for Steve.

The problem is that he’s still not really on top of his own feelings for Steve, and he’d become complacent living in their house, lulled by the peace. He had known that in all probability Steve would find someone at one time or another, he just hadn’t expected having to deal with the fact so soon. Honestly he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to at all. He likes where they are now with Steve, the comfortable companionship at their home, and he’s loathe to have it changed.

He’s not blaming her though, since she really and truly only means well for Steve. Hence he greets her the same as ever, and accepts the large sealed envelope from her. He’s not going to open it there; even with Stark at the head of systems and aware and supportive of their unofficial missions they’re still wary about prying eyes. Bucky does regular bug sweeps at their house too, which Steve hadn’t protested at all. He had just pointed out that SHIELD had bugged his DC apartment, which is basically him encouraging Bucky.

Natasha doesn’t immediately leave, just loiters while Bucky packs his things, and asks, “How are things going with you and Steve?”

Her tone is light, but Bucky knows it’s not an idle question, and he once again reminds himself he needs to be careful or she’s going to be aware of his feelings for Steve. He is good at being covert, though.

“Fine, why do you ask?” Bucky knows his tone is exactly right, just a bit puzzlement at the question, as if he couldn’t imagine a reason.

She shrugs. “No reason.”

She’s equally nonchalant, but Bucky is ninety-eight percent sure Steve has talked to her about the tension at home, which would be the reason for her to try and find out his reaction like this. Bucky knows that if Steve has talked to anyone, it would be her, since she’s his confidant on these sort of things. If it’s about missions and such, or the general weight of the world, Steve usually gravitates to Sam, Bucky has learned.

They exchange a bit more of what passes for small talk for them before Natasha heads out for the gun range and Bucky goes to find lunch.

***

Bucky’s eating at one of the recreational rooms, thinking he might as well start back toward home, when Stark plops down to sit opposite him. Bucky’s not sure how to take it, since they haven’t really talked to each other after he came back to New York. They’ve exchanged a few words, but nothing of substance, and so far neither of them has sought the other’s company.

“Now that you’ve gotten familiar with the shield, have you thought of getting some upgrades? Because I have some ideas.”

Tony plunges right into it, and Bucky gets where he’s coming from, wanting to put what happened behind them while definitely not talking about it. He can work with that.

“No, I like it the way it is. There’s a reason why Steve went back with the magnets, you know. I know they’re practical for when you need to get it back to your arm from some distance away, but not for everything, and there are uses for the straps too.”

“So why did he agree to try the magnets in the first place?”

“I think he was rather trying to convince himself he was getting along in the future.”

Bucky knows the apparently casual remark says a lot about Steve and his mindset back then, probably things Stark hadn’t considered before, judging from the way he looks at Bucky. He doesn’t regret saying so, doesn’t think Steve would mind this kind of revelation. It will probably help Stark better understand the reasons why Steve has finally taken break. It’s kind of a peace offering too from Bucky’s side, although he can’t help but notice that often these bonding experiences with Steve’s friends revolve around Steve, and he’s not sure it’s a good thing. It’s perhaps a safety net, something in common for them, but also a shield for Bucky, because he’s not giving up things about himself. Maybe he should start getting better at it.

He notices Stark glance at his left arm, and he decides then and there to throw away some of the caution, pushes his lunch things to the side, and extends his arm out.

“You can have a look at it.”

Stark looks at the arm, then at him. “Seriously?”

“Sure, I should give you a chance to get your tech envy to the maximum level. Shuri designed it.”

“T’Challa’s sister?”

“That’s her. She apparently designs most of their top tech.”

Stark already has some kind of portable device out, probably something to help with diagnostics. Then he takes a hold of the arm, turning it this way and that, having Bucky move his wrist and fingers, asking questions about the functionality. Bucky replies, and as they become absorbed in it, it’s surprisingly easy, all the awkwardness falling away. Bucky knows it’s not wiping away what happened in the past, but it’s a step toward the right direction at least, indicating they can work together when needed.

***

When Bucky comes home mid-afternoon he finds Steve up at the studio, in process of putting away his paints and cleaning his brushes. There’s a new canvas on the easel, and there’s something about that particular painting that makes Bucky feel unsettled, brings to mind images of winter forests and foxholes. Steve is probably working through something about the war with it.

“I didn’t know you’d be home so early, I was going out,” Steve says, looking halfway apologetic.

“It’s fine, I’ve still got some paperwork to do anyway.”

It’s true enough, he has the file Natasha gave him, but it’s not urgent really. If Steve had been idle they might have sat in the garden and just talked, the way that has become their new habit now, reminding them both of how they used to sit on the fire escape during their first life in Brooklyn.

Or they might have not, since there is the new awkwardness between them. It’s not there all the time, they have nights when everything is as easy as it ever has been, but there is a definite change in the atmosphere in the house. 

“Stark wanted to upgrade the shield, I told him no,” Bucky calls out as he’s going down to his room.

“Be grateful he asked first,” comes the reply and Bucky has to laugh, because he can imagine how that had gone down. He also notes how Stark had mentioned that Steve agreed to the magnets, but apparently not until after they were already on the shield.

Fifteen minutes later Bucky’s drying off after shower and Steve calls out he’s leaving. The front door closes and it feels like the air settles around Bucky differently now that he’s alone.

It’s only then it occurs to Bucky that Steve hadn’t told him where he was going, and he can’t help but wonder if it isn’t actually a date. It would be fairly soon, considering it’s been less than a week since Natasha brought it up and Steve has seemed very disinclined toward the idea, but then again, if Natasha has decided it will be good for Steve, she may well have been able to convince Steve. She and Steve did go out for a coffee just a couple of days earlier, and while Steve had seemed annoyed by her for bringing it up again, Bucky wouldn’t quite count it as an evidence.

There’s even the possibility that Steve may have agreed to it just to get Natasha off his case, which apparently had been the reason for a good three quarters of dates Steve had gone on during the two years between the Battle of New York and Project Insight landing on everyone’s heads.

So Steve is gone, possibly on a date, and Bucky is alone. He decides it’s not really his business to dwell on it, so he pushes it away from his head and digs out the envelope he got from Natasha. He might as well do the work, get ready for their next mission. It definitely is his business.

***

Bucky’s finishing his dinner in the garden when Steve comes back and flops down on one of the chairs. He runs his hand through his hair, causing it to stick every which way, and it’s obvious that whatever happened, the afternoon was not what he wanted.

“You hungry?” Bucky asks, since he can’t quite figure out how exactly to pry anything more out from Steve, but turns out he doesn’t have to.

“No, we ate. Pepper’s good at picking up restaurants, but it doesn’t absolve her of being in cahoots with Nat.”

“About what?” Bucky suspects he knows, but he wants to hear it nonetheless.

“You know what about.” Steve peers at him, shielding his eyes from the low evening sun. “We were supposed to go to a gallery, which we did, but she’d mentioned nothing about her friend that joined us. Her apparently single friend.”

“Was she pretty?” Bucky asks, trying to sound nonchalant, even though he honestly doesn’t care. Or he does actually, he does care about Steve’s opinion, just not in the way Steve probably thinks.

“Maybe, but all I could think of was she tried too hard with the victory rolls and red lipstick.”

“Yikes.” Bucky doesn’t need to act for the grimace, he well knows Steve hates the assumptions that come with behavior like that.

“Yeah. And it wasn’t the first time either that’s happened. I’m half in mind telling Nat that if she has to throw people at me, she should stick with guys so I’d be spared from them trying to look like Peggy at least.”

Steve says it just as Bucky’s taking a drink, which he ends up inhaling and trying to cough up while Steve watches him looking rather unimpressed.

“Did you purposefully say that just when I was drinking?” Bucky demands just as soon as he can speak again.

Steve’s smile is just the smallest crinkle at his eyes. “Honestly, I thought you knew I swing both ways.”

And, well.

“Yeah, I knew. We’ve just never talked about it, so I didn’t expect it to pop up now.”

Bucky smiles at Steve, trying to communicate that he really doesn’t care, that it doesn’t change things. He has been aware for a long time that Steve doesn’t only feel attracted toward women, and it had once upon a time made it even harder when it was obvious Steve never looked at him, but he’s had a long time to get over it. Still, it’s yet another thing to get used to having it out between them. Steve smiles at him for real now, probably getting the message Bucky intends.

Something occurs to Bucky then. “Does Natasha know?”

Steve gives him yet another unimpressed look, which is probably fair. “Course she does, but when it comes to dating, she’s so far stuck to suggesting women. She’s probably been thinking I haven’t been ready to let that part of me becoming public knowledge. Not that she’s wrong. Although it would probably drive it into people’s heads that I’m not what the propaganda says if I was spotted on a date with a guy.”

“So are you going to tell her to find you some eligible men?”

Steve is quiet for a moment. “Nah, don’t think so. Not yet anyway. I like how my life is now, I’m not ready for a change yet.”

Bucky can second that sentiment, even though it again makes him feel just tiniest bit guilty, as if he’s getting away with something. He tamps it down though, because it’s not like he’s keeping Steve, Steve is choosing this for himself.

It’s yet another thing he has to consider, that the person Steve will eventually end up with might be a man. For all that Bucky has known that Steve doesn’t have a strict preference, he still has assumed it would be a woman, if there ever was someone Steve got serious about. Living in the modern world, he really should throw away such assumptions. He’s not quite sure if it will be harder if it’s going to be a man. He knows it shouldn’t, it will still be another person in Steve’s life, giving him something Bucky would like to but that Steve doesn’t want from him. Yet, Bucky suspects it might sting even more.

***

That night Bucky finds sleep hard to come by. It’s not exactly a rare occurrence to him, he has plenty of reasons keeping him awake. Often on nights like this he wonders if Steve too sometimes finds it hard to catch his sleep. He wonders if they both lie awake in their beds at the same time, and what if he just went upstairs to Steve’s room, just to talk to him for a bit. He doesn’t though, and Steve never comes to him either, even when Bucky would gladly help him if only he could.

Tonight though, even if he was in the habit of going to talk to Steve when he can’t sleep, Bucky wouldn’t. It’s because the reason keeping him awake is Steve, and how he still likes Steve more than he should, at least for the sake of the peace of his mind. He’s used to it, has grappled with it for a long time now, and yet it seems more difficult these days. It makes him glad that Steve so far has been extremely reluctant to take Natasha or anyone else up on the dating advice, at least it means he has a little bit more time to live in this bubble, to be close to Steve, to have him all for himself in a way. There are the lazy mornings over coffee and breakfast, there are the hours spent in the studio while Steve paints, and they are only Bucky’s for now.

He also feels like a jerk for being happy, because he knows Steve deep inside does want someone, wants the intimacy of a companion, and it will probably be the deciding factor that’ll tip them over into the next stage of their lives, however that will look like. He’d like nothing more than to be the one to give Steve the intimacy he craves, but Bucky has accepted a long time ago that it’s not going to be him.

Having accepted it doesn’t mean it’s easy, especially since these days just the sheer physical attraction he feels toward Steve seems to be through the roof. Bucky’s always felt it, but now it’s much more intense than it used to be, and he doesn’t know why exactly. He just knows it’s true.

Tonight, what’s really keeping him awake is the way Steve looked earlier, relaxed in the chair. He had one of his too tight shirts on, and his beard has grown nice and full. Bucky has a hard time not running his hand through it whenever he’s close enough, he’s wondered more often than he cares to admit even to himself if it’s soft or coarse. He has a hard time tearing his eyes off Steve in general, drinking in every detail from his deft artist’s hands to defined chest to the annoyed expression he had on earlier. 

Bucky pushes the thoughts away, because if he continues down this line, his imagination is going to take over. Seeing as how during the war personal modesty wasn’t exactly high on their list of priorities, he’s seen everything of Steve, meaning his imagination doesn’t even have to work that hard. What he wonders now is if Steve’s rapid healing has already erased all the marks from the wounds he got during the war, if there are new scars from injuries Bucky doesn’t know about. In his mind Bucky would run his hands over all of them, and it almost spirals out of hand, except he remembers there may be scars from injuries Bucky knows well enough, bullet holes Bucky himself put through Steve.

Bucky has to get up when the memory of the helicarrier hits him, broken and confusing, but all too clear, Steve crumpled and hurt. He sits down on the floor by the wall, in the corner with the best sight lines. 

It’s good really, that Steve doesn’t feel the same way Bucky does. There’s nothing but a mess that has come from Bucky’s hands on Steve, nothing but bruises and broken bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next one is the third chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/27145494).


	6. September 10th 2017

_ The helicarrier is falling under him, breaking into pieces. It’s over, he’s failed his purpose, and it’s the fault of the man that somehow unsettles him, the man that doesn’t have the decency to give up even with three bullet holes in his body. He’s lost and confused, this was supposed to be the last mission, and now there’s nothing left but the strength of his arm. _

_ He ignores the voice, the words, doesn’t let himself hear them. He hits and hits, doesn’t stop until he knows the man won’t get up again, won’t say another word. _

_ He’s still falling. _

Bucky wakes up as he hits the floor, tangled in the sheets drenched with sweat, and the fabric tears as he struggles out of them in his haste to the bathroom. He throws up, empties his stomach until there’s nothing left, before staggering up to his feet to rinse his mouth.

His knees are unsteady and his hands are shaking, both the flesh and metal one, and the part of him that’s always clinical these days notes it’s a miracle of engineering to have a prosthesis that responds so perfectly to him. Rest of him stares at his hands until he’s sure there’s no blood on them. He still washes them, hot water and a lot of soap, and he doesn’t know what he’s trying to get rid of. The dream won’t dissipate so easily.

Back in his room he notes it’s just past one in the morning, less than two hours since he went to sleep. He looks at the bed, the torn sheets, but doesn’t make a move to change them. Instead he turns on his heels and heads for the stairs, going up.

Steve hasn’t closed the door to his bedroom, and the curtains are open as well, letting the faint light of the city in. He’s lying on his stomach, just a bit diagonally on the bed, starfished to take space. One of his arms hangs over the edge, fingers brushing the carpet.

Bucky can feel his heart rate going down, looking at sleeping Steve. He knew immediately after waking it was only a dream, remembered how it differed from reality. Not that what actually happened was anything good either, but it’s so much better than the alternative of not hearing Steve when it mattered, not stopping until his life had left. Still, it’s only now that he’s here looking at Steve, safe and whole, that he can rely on it, that he knows for real, deep in his bones, that Steve survived.

It amazes him every time he thinks of it that Steve still insists on being his friend, still insists on letting Bucky be part of his life. Not that he complains. Bucky has decided to not think of whether he deserves it or not, it’s a gift and he’s going to hold on to it for as long as it’s his.

Steve stirs, probably feeling eyes on him. Bucky could leave, could  be gone silent like a shadow and Steve would never know he’d been there at all, but he stays where he is. 

Steve props himself up on an elbow. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

“Just a dream, wanted to check on you. It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

He leaves before Steve gets another word in, and heads down past his room, because there’s no way he’ll sleep anymore this night. He goes down all the way to the basement, takes a moment to wrap his right hand and sets to pummeling the reinforced bag hanging from the ceiling.

A moment later the door on top of the stairs opens and Steve comes down. It’s entirely predictable that he wouldn’t just go back to sleep, but instead followed Bucky down. He’s thrown a sweatshirt on top of his pajamas, and has a sketchbook in hand. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just continues to work on the bag, and Steve doesn’t talk either. From the corner of his eye Bucky sees Steve sit down and start drawing. The scratch of the pencil is mixed up with the dull thuds of his fists, filling the quiet night.

Bucky is unsettled by the dream, but this here, the simple exercise and quiet companionship makes it better, and it’s why he doesn’t even try to persuade Steve to go back to bed. Not that Steve would, even though it makes no sense for both of them to lose sleep over one nightmare, but then again, it’s not like there’s anywhere they need to be the next day.

Bucky concentrates on the rhythm of his fists, keeps his breathing even and doesn’t think.

***

It’s hours later when Bucky finally stops hitting. He’s still not relaxed, nor is he tired either. Steve is still sitting at the stairs, leaning his elbow on the knee, sketchbook lying forgotten next to him.

“Breakfast?” Steve asks, and Bucky realizes he’s ravenous, which is only to be expected.

“Let’s go out for it.”

They both take a quick shower and are on the street soon enough. The morning is still cool, the sun isn’t up yet, won’t be for another hour, but the sky is already pale toward the east. There are clouds rising too, Bucky remembers the forecast was for overcast skies but no rain.

They go to the diner they like the most in the neighborhood, it opens already at four and specializes in breakfast, serving it all through the day. It’s also a definite plus that the staff aren’t weird about them, they know who they are but treat them just the same as any other customers. The coffee is good too.

This morning there are only two other people in, nursing their coffees and not caring who else is up, and they get their favorite booth by the window. Laila, who’s owned the place for three decades and is always there for the morning shift, brings them coffee without being asked and chats a bit with Steve, clearly noting Bucky’s not in the mood. Another point for her favor. They order without needing to look at the menu; Bucky gets scrambled eggs, sausages and hash browns, and Steve pancakes with bacon.

Bucky puts it all away, happy to note that it’s easy; there are times when nightmares take his appetite away too. At least it’s not as common anymore as it was in the early days, when he had a harder time with food in general. Steve talks while they eat, just random things aimed to occupying their time without the need to think too much. The day before he’d spent a couple of hours with the spider-kid, getting in some basic combat training. It’s high time in Bucky’s opinion that someone takes care of it, but he also agrees that it’s better it doesn’t happen officially with the Avengers. It gives Peter the chance to really be a teenager, even if he insists on poking his nose in the business of criminals. The kid is strong, fast, and smart, but he has a long way to go still, and getting advice from someone with experience will smooth out many wrinkles on the way.

Bucky was around a couple of days earlier when Steve had a funny phone conversation with Stark, who has pretty much tried to adopt the kid and felt Steve was butting in, but Steve just pointed out that Stark probably wouldn’t want to be training the kid in hand to hand, considering how hard he can actually hit, and that Stark would have a free reign at shooting lasers at him, designing suits, and helping Peter with college applications, Steve wasn’t getting into any of that. They’d ended the call perfectly amicably, and Steve had only shaken his head a little afterward.

They fall quiet when they’ve eaten and are drinking yet another cups of coffee, but Bucky doesn’t mind since he likes people watching. It’s soothing these days, when there’s no longer the constant expectation that everyone is out to get him. Steve has brought his sketchbook and is doodling on it.

They leave when more of the early breakfast crowd starts to trickle in, and Steve apparently sees Bucky’s still jittery, since he suggests they take a walk in the park. They do, and as they wander around on the paths Bucky finally finds himself calming down.

There’s a bunch of kids that recognize Steve despite the beard, and he stops to talk to them, writing autographs and answering questions. Even though he’s feeling better than he did in the morning, Bucky doesn’t quite feel up to facing their excitement, so it’s a blessing they don’t recognize him, and he ducks into a nearby cafe for a bit. He orders himself another coffee, and gets a chocolate and hazelnut gelato for Steve, who has a sweet tooth and fully subscribes to a belief that ice cream is something to be eaten year round, not just on beautiful summer days.

The kids are just leaving, waving as they go when Bucky comes out and he gets a brilliant smile from Steve when he hands out the ice cream. They walk slowly toward home, along the still fairly quiet streets. Most people probably are only getting up, Bucky thinks, but the two of them aren’t ones for Sunday lie in, not even on good days. The sky gets darker as they near home, and apparently the forecast was wrong about it not raining, since the first drops fall on them just as they turn to the door.

Inside they flop down on the couch, shoulders brushing together, and turn on the television. Steve finds some nature documentary for them to watch while they’re waiting for the game to begin later in the afternoon. They’ve been getting into baseball for the first time in the new century. Neither one of them had been inclined to catching up to it before, but now that they’re living together, they’ve found themselves getting interested again.

Steve has told Bucky the story about the baseball game they’d been at on the fake radio when he woke up, as well as the pitiful attempt at creating convincing recovery room from the forties, not to mention period appropriate clothes. Bucky thinks it’s a miracle that SHIELD managed as far as it did if that was their competence level. But maybe it explains how they managed to miss HYDRA in the middle of them.

***

Bucky wakes up, warm and content, even though he doesn’t remember when he fell asleep. He hadn’t meant to, and there was a time when such a loss of control would have unsettled him. Probably still would, if he were to fall asleep without meaning to somewhere else, but this is home, he’s with Steve, and even his subconsciousness has accepted it as safe.

It’s only then that he examines why exactly he’s so content, and realizes his head is resting on Steve’s thigh, and that Steve’s fingers are in his hair, massaging idle circles in his scalp. Bucky almost tenses, but he makes himself stay still and relaxed, as if still sleeping. There’s a blanket drawn over him, and the television is still on, although the sound is turned way down. The game is already in progress, which means he must have slept for at least a few hours.

Bucky stays where he is, not moving, but wondering how exactly they ended up like this. It’s conceivable he fell asleep against Steve on the couch, but to get him to lie down must have taken some effort, which means Steve chose to have his head pillowed on his thigh. And the fingers in his hair are calming, but nothing he’d expect. Even when they used to be fairly tactile before the war and are getting it back a bit again, it’s still not familiar, nothing like the way they used to touch each other. There’s a note of gentleness that Bucky doesn’t remember, it feels more like Steve is choosing to do it because he wants to, because he likes to, not just for some benefit toward Bucky.

“Feeling better?” Steve asks, apparently aware Bucky’s awake even though he hasn’t moved.

Steve keeps rubbing the circles into Bucky’s scalp, clearly not self-conscious about Bucky knowing he’s doing so, not stopping even when Bucky shifts to look at him. Steve looks at him with a slight smile, appearing content too, not tired at all even though he didn’t sleep that much more than Bucky did during the night.

“I’m okay,” Bucky says and turns back toward the television, deciding that if Steve isn’t self-conscious, he’s not going to be either, and it feels almost too good. “How’s the game?”

“Atrocious hitting from both teams.” Steve turns up the volume and shifts a bit, settling into the cushions, hand still in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky throws the blanket off, since now that he’s awake he’s getting too hot, but doesn’t move otherwise. Steve doesn’t seem inclined to make him get up or stop running his hand through his hair.

They watch the game, and Steve was right, the hitting is bad all around. Neither team has scored yet, and if it continues like this, there’ll be a lot of extra innings. The most entertaining thing on television is how the commentators can’t decide if they want to be horrified by the level of play or try to come up with the most cutting remarks. The most entertaining thing in general is Steve, which means Bucky isn’t concentrating that much at all on the game.

A part of him remains content, reveling in the touch, but the rest of him is considering, remembering. For a little while after he’d decided to go with Natasha and Sam to weed out HYDRA and Steve had given him the shield, he’d come to think of their life in the house as a constant. And in many ways it is, there is stability and safety that allows him to relax in a way he hasn’t since before the war. All he needs to do is cross the threshold.

Yet, he’s also become aware that their lives are shifting, the atmosphere in the house isn’t staying the same. The first push toward the shifting currents came from outside, Natasha reminding Steve he’s the kind of a person who isn’t built to stay alone his whole life. For all that Steve hadn’t taken it too well, nor has he gone out with anyone, Bucky knows Steve has thought about it, because ultimately what Natasha said is the truth. The knowledge still unsettles Bucky, knowing that their lives are most likely going to change sooner or later.

All the discussion about Steve dating had created an undercurrent of tension in the house, but lately Bucky has felt it changing again, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. This time it comes from Steve, something has changed in him, did the last time Bucky was away on a mission, because he came home from it dead tired and still knew something was going on. They’d even talked about it, but Steve hadn’t given him any specifics, just said it was nothing to worry about. It had been an honest statement too, there’s nothing about Steve’s demeanor that worries Bucky. He’s just different.

Steve shifts again, sliding down on the couch, and Bucky’s head now rest at the bend of his hip, against his stomach. Steve keeps carding his fingers through his hair, and the new kind of touch somehow fits the change in Steve.

There is a part of him that wants to pick at it, wants to lay every bit of evidence of Steve’s change out and figure out what it is all about. Yet another part is content to wait, because the deepest, most reliable instincts in Bucky tell him it’s a good thing. That side ends up winning, and in the meanwhile Bucky decides to enjoy the closeness. 

Even if their lives were to change at sometime, this is happening now, and Bucky will take whatever he can get.

***

They cook that night, steaks with roasted vegetables and potatoes, seasoned with herbs from their own garden. Wanda has continued to give Steve lessons on them, and now Steve at least knows what grows in their backyard. During Bucky’s last mission they’d moved some of the plants into pots to be kept on the kitchen window sill against the upcoming cold.

Bucky’s cutting up things for the salad, the work easy and soothing, and it’s almost without meaning that he talks.

“Last night I dreamed that I killed you on the helicarrier. You talked, but it didn’t connect with me like it did in reality.”

Steve pauses mixing the dressing, and glances at Bucky. “That’s why you came up to see me, right? Makes sense.” Steve finishes seasoning the dressing. “Sometimes I dream that I killed you before I knew who you were. I wasn’t holding back, after you intercepted us on the overpass in Sam’s car. In the dream I fight you, I kill you, and only recognize you when I pull away the mask.”

Bucky stares at Steve who’s not looking at him now, unhappy frown between his eyebrows. It makes sense that Steve too has nightmares, Bucky has even speculated on it before, wondered if Steve too is awake in the middle of the night like he is, but he hasn’t really considered what would be keeping Steve up. 

They haven’t talked about such things before. These days they are mostly open with each other, in some ways more than they’ve ever been as they’re finding their way back to the peaceful co-existence, but there are still things that are difficult to bring to light. The reason why they don’t is probably the same for the both of them, wanting to protect each other from hurt. Yet now that Bucky knows, he wishes he’d been aware earlier, wishes he could have helped Steve before to relieve the anxiety that clearly comes with the dreams. And it must be the same for Steve too, he too must regularly wonder what Bucky is going through, wanting to help but not asking for fear of it making things worse, upsetting the balance.

He’s starting to understand that maybe the way to protect each other is not hiding things, but being as honest as they can.

He lets the instinct pull him up and go to Steve, who barely has time to put everything down before Bucky’s wrapping his arms around his waist. Bucky props his chin on Steve’s shoulder, holds on tight, and only a heartbeat later Steve too wraps his arms around Bucky, tight and secure, and buries his face against Bucky’s neck. Steve’s breaths against his skin are just a little unsteady, and Bucky’s not entirely solid himself either. Truth is, he doesn’t have to be. Neither of them does. It’s not one person holding the other up, but both of them supporting each other, and it’s enough if they just let it be, instead of hiding away from each other.

They cling to each other for a few minutes, until Steve says, “If we want the steaks ready at the same time with everything else, we have to cook them now.”

Bucky laughs at it, squeezes Steve one last time and lets him back to the stove. He finishes making the salad, and only thinks a little bit about how Steve’s lips brushed against the side of his neck while he spoke.

***

After dinner they’re back on the couch watching another game on the reruns. Steve is clearly sleepy already, the short night getting to him since there’s no pressing need for him to try and stay alert. Bucky’s just about to tell him to get to bed when Steve speaks.

“I’ve been thinking, both of us have had the tendency to try to get by on our own, if there’s some sort of crisis we tend to withdraw and deal with it by ourselves.”

“Yeah, and it usually hasn’t worked out, not on the long run,” Bucky says.

“That’s exactly my point. I think we should try to not do that. I know it’ll be hard, my head is always telling me not to bother other people with my trouble.”

“But it’s not a bother.”

“No, it’s not.” Steve looks at him, sincere as he can be, and Bucky knows then they’ve both come to the same conclusion. Steve continues, “When you think of it, we’ve always done better together than apart, and we should just start accepting it.”

“I think we have been, since we started living here,” Bucky says, the thought only now coming to him.

“I know,” Steve says, clearly getting it. “But we didn’t consciously acknowledge it, and that’s what we should do. We’re getting better at talking and letting each other in again, but if we don’t think of what it means, we can go wrong. And I don’t want that.”

“Me neither.” Steve yawns then, and Bucky pushes at his elbow. “Go to bed, you slept two hours last night and didn’t even have a nap like I did.”

Steve gets to his feet without protesting even for appearances, which means he is about ready to crash. “I’m going. Just, if you have a nightmare, or anything. Don’t worry about waking me.”

“You too,” Bucky reminds Steve, knowing full well that even with acknowledging all of these things, if it really comes to it, Steve is still all too likely to hold back and try to work through trouble on his own.

“I’ll do my best,” Steve says, and Bucky takes it for what it is, Steve agreeing he’ll need to push himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next one is the fourth chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/27875307).


	7. October 10th 2017

Bucky’s watching the sunrise from a quinjet window. This high up he can see it earlier, he knows on the ground it’s still dark, the sky lightening up but no sun yet visible. It’s a start of a new day, and he feels content even though he’s still keyed up from the mission. There’s a sense of accomplishment in the air.

It was his first official mission as an Avenger, a major step on the way toward his goal of finding a place for himself in the world that allows for a peace of mind. He’s wearing the uniform designed for him to use when on official missions instead of the all black one he uses when they go undercover with Nat and Sam. This suit is meant to communicate he’s Captain America, so there’s red, white, and blue in it, but the base color is still black to differentiate it from the blue of Steve’s suits. The star on the chest is the same, though. He also had the shield with him, although he didn’t have use for it this time, turned out all that was needed were his sniper skills.

He’d been called in since Natasha is to her continuing irritation still benched due to a wrist injury from a previous mission, and he’s one of the few people with the required skills as a sniper and with stealth. When he’d been getting ready at home, Steve had made a joke about seduction skills, since he was supposed to take Nat’s place. After all her being known as Black Widow rather does make people fixate on that element, something she uses to her advantage all the time, getting them to underestimate how brutally dangerous she can be when needed. Bucky had been thrown by the comment because in fact he’d had missions relying on those kinds of skills back between sixties and nineties when the Russians were his handlers and he had a comparatively longer leash. When the Americans had taken over soon after the fall of the Soviet Union, both the advancement in surveillance systems as well as his decaying conditioning had caused his missions to become shorter, usually just assassinations and not infiltration.

It had been awkward between him and Steve, not only because Bucky doesn’t really know how to handle any kind of talk about seduction or relationships with Steve these days, since he’d rather such things happened between them, but also because he doesn’t talk about his time as the Winter Soldier with Steve, not really. There are nightmares that they do share and what can be inferred from those, and Steve has read files on his conditioning and missions, but it’s all one step removed. Bucky hasn’t brought it up, hasn’t elaborated, because he’d like to keep it separate from their current life, not to mention he doesn’t want to cause Steve any more distress due to guilt. Now he’s starting to think maybe he should talk about it, because otherwise he’ll always carry it all alone, he’ll always be hiding behind deception.

Besides him, there are Wanda and Sam on the plane, Sam’s sprained ankle from the previous mission having healed fine in just a couple of days. This mission was laughably easy, so much so that Bucky feels foolish to have been so on edge that he’s still feeling the remains of adrenaline, but the additional pressure of having become an Avenger for real is taking its toll. Sam is sleeping, but Wanda is up and comes to sit beside him.

She taps her finger at the shield next to him. “Does it feel weird, being Captain America?”

“Of course it does. And I doubt it’s ever going to stop feeling weird. I just hope I can find a way to make it mine instead of just trying to be Steve.”

“It’ll be different, but different isn’t always bad. And for Steve too. You know he was the first Avenger I encountered?”

“I know. Heard you dropped him down some stairs.”

Wanda grins at him, clearly picking up his tone that’s not at all accusing. “I did. And still, next time we met he offered us a way out, and later he listened to us, despite of what we’d done. He gave me a home with the Avengers, a place to call my own. I don’t know where I’d be if he hadn’t. Probably nowhere nearly as good.”

“Despite all.”

“Yeah, despite all. But I knew it would be risky when I agreed, although I only learned later what it really meant for me. He helped me through then too. He’s very good at understanding what people need for support.”

“He is,” Bucky agrees. “Back during the war, I think what most people were surprised to find out was how effective he was not only at leading his own team, but also working together with other teams when we needed to on missions. He’s funny like that, because he’s kind of bad at talking to people if it’s in some relaxed environment, chatting up people at bars, recognizing when they are flirting with him. He can’t do it at all, but somehow he really gets you if you’re struggling with some crisis. I don’t understand how it works, but it’s true.”

Wanda laughs. “I know, I’ve seen it sometimes.” She quiets then, chewing at her lip. “Do you think he’ll come back to the Avengers? I mean, I get why he stopped and I’m glad he’s clearly doing better, but just, you know.”

Bucky considers only for a second whether it’s his place before looping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a half hug. 

“I do get it. And he will be back in saddle in time, there’s no way he’ll leave it all behind for good. Honestly I’m still surprised he’s managed to stick to his break even this long. He needs it, and he’s still only getting there I think, he was run so ragged before, but he’ll be back.” Bucky smiles at the idea he has. “And I know you’re visiting regularly, but if you want, you could ask him to train with you too. It’s not a strain because there’s no stress like there’s from missions, and he likes it, keeps him limber, as he says. He’s already training Peter, and I’m sure you’ll fit in too.”

She lights up at the suggestion, deciding to call Steve soon, and they move on to going over the mission again and writing their reports. Due to the easy time they had Bucky’s all done when the quinjet lands at the Avengers Compound, and it’s only mid morning when he’s on the way home, catching a ride with Sam.

***

When he arrives in Brooklyn Bucky texts Steve to ask if he wants lunch, and gets a reply that he already ate. It’s not a surprise, it’s a bit later already than their usual lunch time, and Steve wouldn’t have been waiting since there was no knowing how long the mission was going to take. Bucky gives in to his hankering for a matzo ball soup, and eats it from the container as he walks the last few blocks home.

Steve doesn’t immediately greet him as he comes in, so he puts his gear away, takes a shower and changes before climbing up to the top floor. As expected, he finds Steve in the studio, but not painting this time. Instead he’s sitting on the floor in a lotus position, form so perfect that any yoga instructor would be jealous. Bucky knows he’s not meditating, Steve’s temperament doesn’t suit just sitting and emptying his mind at all.

Steve’s arranged some of his recent paintings around him, on easels and leaning on the wall. There are no portraits to show, and Bucky misses them, because he doesn’t know what to think of the current subject matter. They’re mostly landscapes, not quite representative, but there’s enough familiarity that he can tell Steve is working through trauma with them. He sees the gray angles of DC, and a lot of white streaked with blues, yellows, and oranges; a field of ice under the sun. There’s the ravine Bucky remembers he thought he was going to die in, all leeched of color and closest to reality out of them all. There are ones he doesn’t recognize, struggles he didn’t have a part in.

Steve has been steadily working on these, on and off for a couple of months now, and while Bucky has seen them all before, he’s never asked about them, hasn’t quite known how to go about it, and Steve hasn’t offered yet. There’s a shadow on Steve’s face as he looks at them now, the memories heavy around him, but it clears away as he notices Bucky at the door.

Steve reaches his hand out to Bucky in a clearly unconscious gesture, and he can’t do anything but obey, sitting down next to Steve, his legs stretched out, leaning back to his hands and letting Steve squeeze him close for a second. It’s a continuation to how the physicality between them has evolved over the last several weeks, all of it initiated by Steve. There’s a new kind of gentleness in it, but purpose too, and Bucky can’t help but be utterly charmed by it, allowing it to progress, following Steve’s lead. Now too he shifts closer and props his chin on Steve’s shoulder as they turn to look at the paintings. Steve tilts his head for a moment, touching their temples together, and the shadow from earlier doesn’t return.

Bucky reminds himself every time something like this happens that it’s dangerous to let himself get used to this closeness with Steve, since he can’t see it lasting. If he’s quite honest, he’s a bit surprised he’s not feeling bitter at all toward Steve, doesn’t resent having this tangled in front of him when it will be snatched away eventually. He just doesn’t, he soaks it all up like a sponge, and thinks it’s already more than he ever expected to get.

“I assume it went alright since you’re back already,” Steve says.

“It was all good. Wanda was great, although she misses you. I think she’s going to sign up for training too, you can have some variety compared to Peter.”

“Yeah, getting punched by magic instead of just super strength.” Steve smiles despite the mock-grumbling. “I’ll have to call her to set it up.”

“Only problem we had was that Sam insisted on calling me Bucky-Cap all the time. I’m reconsidering my decision becoming friends with him.” Bucky can feel the shaking of Steve’s silent laughter under his chin. “What about you, did Natasha find you a date finally?”

Bucky wants to curse himself, clearly there’s a masochistic side to him, since it’s really the last thing he wants to talk about now that the moment is so perfect, Steve radiating warmth through his t-shirt.

Steve huffs out a laughter, and turns his head just enough he can look at Bucky from the corner of his eye. “I think she’s given up. And you know I don’t want to date around.”

Steve shifts and touches his fingers lightly on Bucky’s wrist behind them. Bucky’s heart picks up at the contact, at the undeniable intimacy of it especially combined with the words. For a split second he lets his mind run down the path of logic right into a conclusion, a potential, before he pushes it away as fast as it popped up. It’ll do no good getting his hopes up, it wouldn’t be fair toward either one of them.

He wills his traitorous heart to calm down, to return to his normal resting rate. He doesn’t move away from the contact, doesn’t lift his chin.

“So what is this all about, then?” Bucky gestures at the paintings laid out, wanting to direct the conversation to a new topic.

“I’ve been teaching myself to look at these moments, to remember. Ever since I’ve been painting them, really.”

“Sounds fun.” Bucky knows he sounds dubious, and he is, he doesn’t quite see how this is anything good. It just appears to be more of Steve punishing himself for his failures.

Steve seems to understand the source of his doubt. “No, see, it’s not about me thinking it should have been different. It’s more like, these things happened, and there’s nothing I can do to change them. I’ve been pushing them away from me, and all that does is that they’re festering in me, never getting any easier. So I’m working on accepting, and learning, so I can move on.”

Bucky gets it then, and he really should have from the start, because it’s the same thing he himself did in Bucharest and before he ended up there. He’d made himself look at the horrible things he’d done as the Winter Soldier, had made himself be able to meet them head on, because otherwise they would have drowned him. It had helped him, and he thinks it’ll help Steve too. It’s probably a high time for something like this.

He looks at the paintings again. “You’re missing something, though.”

Steve hums, the question in the air.

“You can’t just think about the bad things that happened, you need to remind yourself of the good things too. You’ve got the right idea, but it can’t be just this.”

Bucky had figured it out fairly soon, in the middle of one of the early weeks when he’d felt like he was drowning in remembered blood. He’d happened upon a flier from the Captain America exhibition that he’d snagged with him almost without thinking while he visited, and in the midst of the mental storm remembering Steve had helped him steady himself. After that, he’d also made an effort to dig for the good memories; his childhood, his family, the bright dance halls, lazy Sunday afternoons spent on the fire escape reading Shelley and Poe, Wells and Verne, the scratch of Steve’s pencil in his ears.

Steve smiles at him now and folds out of his seat up to his feet, and pulls Bucky with him across the hall to his bedroom. There are paintings in display there too, leaning on the walls. They’re the portraits Bucky has seen Steve paint, and gathered together there are more of them than he had realized. There are all the familiar faces around, from the past as well as now. The newest, one Bucky hadn’t seen yet, is of Sarah Rogers, her eyes kind just as he remembers, healthy bloom on her cheeks that later got pale with illness.

“You should hang that in the living room.”

Steve smiles and gestures at another painting, one of Bucky’s parents. “That too. Anyway, here are my happy memories. Still missing one though.”

Bucky scans the rows of paintings, and can’t come up with anyone who’d be missing, anyone important enough. Steve laughs and shakes his head.

“You know, for all that you’ve got the most rigorous spy training, I sometimes worry about your observational skills. Guess I haven’t gotten along painting you, since you’re around all the time anyway. But don’t worry, I will.”

“Would have thought you’d have already gotten bored with drawing me, since I was the only one around for your life drawing practice.”

Steve’s smile is soft. “No.”

Bucky wants to squirm under the gaze, his traitorous thoughts again wanting to point to a conclusions he doesn’t want to draw. He looks around to come up with a change in topic again, and finds it in a pile of packing materials on the table.

“Are you sending these somewhere?”

“Well, not all. The personal ones stay, but I’m giving most of them to the people portrayed, or their relatives, in the case of the Commandos for example. I think they’ll like to know how I see them.”

Bucky nods, it makes sense, and he’s sure the gifts will be appreciated. “Need help with the packaging?”

“If you’re not busy otherwise.”

They spend a few hours at it, getting about a quarter done since it’s not fast work making sure the paintings stay safe, especially the ones going through a delivery service. Steve addresses the painting of Sam to Nat and vise versa, and Bucky laughs, thinking it’s definitely appropriate.

***

Late in the evening Bucky stands outside on the terrace, looking up to the dark sky. It’s a clear night, but the stars are mostly hidden by the light pollution as usual. It’s fairly warm considering the time of the year, and he finds himself yearning for a cooler weather, despite how he doesn’t like cold at all.

He doesn’t really know why he came out, he’s not trying to avoid anything, nor is he in need of time to think of something particular either. He’s just there, breathing in the warm air, feeling the calm flow into his veins.

The door opens and Steve steps out, coming to stand next to him, looking up to the sky as well. For a moment neither one of them talks.

“When I was held in Siberia, back in seventies and eighties,” Bucky says before he’s really parsed in his mind where the line of thought is leading him, “they sometimes made me stand outside during the really cold nights. I don’t know why they did it, it wasn’t punishment or anything, maybe some kind of endurance test, but I never found out. They’d just bring me out and tell me to wait until they called me in.”

Steve hums, a sign that he’s listening, but doesn’t say anything, and Bucky’s grateful, because he doesn’t think he could continue if Steve did.

“Sometimes there was wind and snow, but often there were really clear nights too, when the temperature just plummets. I’d stand there and look up to the stars. There were no lights outside anywhere, and I could see so many of them, thousands, maybe even millions, bright and dim. I knew constellations then too, I now know I learned during the war, but didn’t remember it then, it was just something I had. I’d look up and catalog them in my head. It always took hours before I was called back inside, it’s hard to tell time there if one doesn’t try, but the sky is always moving with the turn of the Earth. Can’t tell it from moment to moment, but suddenly you remember the star that’s now in the south was in the east when you started.”

Bucky looks at Steve now, for the first time since he started talking. “It was peaceful, and the memory of it still is. Isn’t that odd? Back then I didn’t really consider my circumstance, but now that I know what it was I hate it, but somehow I can’t find anything but calmness in those moments.”

“It’s not strange to feel like that. And I’m glad there were at least those moments, if you had to go through what you did, that not all of it was horror.”

“Guess so. Still going to think of that every time I look up to the sky, I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Steve pulls at Bucky’s sleeve then, comes closer and envelopes him into a hug. Bucky buries his face against Steve’s neck, breathing in the different kind of warmth compared to the city air. His muscles relax against Steve, safety and happiness coursing through him.

He is calm like this too, content, and it’s far preferable to the memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sighing eternally at Bucky being unable to believe in the good thing he sees in front of him, but at least he opened up a bit.
> 
> Chronologically the next one is the fifth chapter on Steve’s side of the story; [here is a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/28773375).


	8. November 10th 2017

Natasha snags a hold of Bucky’s sleeve when they file out of the quinjet at the end of the mission. He opens his mouth to tell her he just wants to go home, that he’s not in the mood for celebrations, not of the kind the Avengers would offer anyway.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” she says instead, and Bucky doesn’t protest, he knows it’ll be the fastest way, for all that there clearly is an underlying agenda going on, especially evident by the fact that Sam doesn’t join them.

He’s feeling jittery for several different reasons. First of all they’ve been on a mission five full days, and he’s very nearly exhausted. He sort of slept during the night as they flew back, but it was on the jet, and hence not that restful, leaving him weary despite the fact the mission wasn’t that difficult, just draining because they needed to hop over several time zones.

Secondly, him being Captain America is now official, and as expected, it seems everyone has an opinion about it. Hence it was not only the mission he needed to think about, he also had to participate in talks on how they’re going to handle the publicity. Bucky declined making any interviews, stating he wants to do the job and nothing else. He was never comfortable in limelight, he doesn’t think so anyway, and certainly not now. He’ll still need to wait to see the full extent of the fallout, but it doesn’t seem to be too bad. He’s angriest about the comments directed at Steve, that he shouldn’t be taking time off. As if he should give and give to the often ungrateful world until there’s nothing left. Bucky remembers similar comments appearing in the early days, when they’d just moved back together, but there seems to be a new wave again.

He hopes Steve hasn’t been on the internet reading them, he doesn’t need the guilt.

Rest of his jitters are all about Steve, and what happened between them. It had been the result of post-battle adrenaline, he thinks now, it seems like the most probable reason to push them into it even though the desire was pre-existing. They’d ended up in Steve’s shower, ended up getting each other off, and crashed in Steve’s bed. He’d slept twelve hours straight, the most restful night he remembers, up until his phone rang and he was called in for the mission they’re only now returning from.

They’d woken up tangled with each other, but there hadn’t been time to talk about it, he’d needed to be on his way as fast as possible, and now, five days later what seemed so easy then is a lot more complicated.

The problem is, he was so sure they were on the same page with Steve, that it wasn’t just the heat of the moment. Especially since he well knows it’s not something Steve goes for; momentary passion. So it must have been real, Steve must want him the same way he wants Steve, that’s what logic says. And he wants it to be true, more than anything. Now, five days later, he’s not quite as sure, and he hates the uncertainty on so many levels. He hates it for himself, because the experience is all too draining, and he hates it because it feels like he’s betraying Steve somehow, because surely he must know him well enough to be able to sort this out.

The root of the problem is something he’s been wrestling with ever since he came to live with Steve in Brooklyn; that he has a hard time believing something so good would happen to him. It’s not even a case of whether he deserves it, although he does wrestle with that as well, more than he wants to, but that part is mostly under control now that he’s working with the Avengers, ridding the world of HYDRA. Instead it’s all about his experiences and probabilities, the cold calculating part that looks at his history and says good things just don’t happen to him.

He knows it’s a faulty conclusion, that his past with HYDRA has no bearing on whether good things can happen now, but that part of him is so tied to his sense of self-preservation that it’s difficult to silence.

He manages fairly well when it comes to their friendship, to them living together, because those are things he had before war and everything going to hell, and it’s not too big a stretch to believe he can have them again. With those, he struggles more with the guilt and whether he deserves it, but he can deal with all that.

It’s different with what has newly born between them, and he doesn’t even know what to call it, because he absolutely does not want to name it love; whatever his heart might say he can’t deal with putting so much weight on it. Not yet when he can’t be fully sure. He has a hard time believing it’s real and significant, because it’s new. He never had this, he wanted Steve before the war, wanted him during it, but anything more than friendship wasn’t on the table then. And if that Bucky couldn’t have more, why should he?

He tries to push the thought out of his head, tries to reason with himself that he should just go back home and talk to Steve before tying himself in knots over it, before drawing conclusions without all necessary information, but it’s impossible to completely let go of it.

He’s deep in thought, turning the matter here and there in his head, and he surfaces half way back home to realize Natasha hasn’t said anything during the whole time. She’s just driving, effortlessly fast, although safe enough she’s not going to get stopped. It surprises Bucky, because the setup is too obvious, clearly meant to give them an opportunity to talk. Yet she’s kept quiet.

They drive on silently until they’re about ten minutes away. It’s then that Natasha finally gets to business.

“You know, I’ve been texting with Steve,” she says, and it’s not a jump for Bucky to conclude she knows, which she confirms right after. “And I get the timing of this mission was less than ideal, but you shouldn’t let it get into the way of things.”

“You got it out of him via a text? That’s pretty impressive.” Bucky’s stalling, and she knows it too, if her unimpressed glance at him is anything to go by.

“Not really, we talk with Steve about these kinds of things. He told me before he told you.”

“When?” Bucky asks, even though the information is secondary, he’s occupied by the thought that if Steve has been talking about them, then it’s yet another indicator it wasn’t just the heat of the moment that got them together.

“About a month ago, when I had the wrist fracture and Sam wouldn’t let me in on the mission. Anyway, I’m not trying to sort this out for you, you have to do it with him, but I can tell you’ve been freaking out, second guessing. Don’t. There’s no need for it, just go home and grasp the happiness, because it’s real.”

She smiles at him, and Bucky can’t help but smile back. He’s not surprised she’s doing this, reassuring him and saying he’s got no reason to worry. She has ties to the both of them, and while their past together is a bit complicated, she and Steve are close in so many ways, and this is what she does, makes things just a bit easier for her friends whenever she can.

It helps him too, that he knows so well she’s rarely wrong when it comes to people, and if she makes an observation, the likelihood of it being correct is so great that even the cold, pessimistic part of him has to accept it. It alleviates his anxiety, and as she pulls up to the curb in front of their house, he thinks he’s stable enough he can talk to Steve and really listen to him without doubts clouding his mind.

He kisses her on the cheek as a thank you, and takes the steps to the front door three at a time.

***

He closes the door after himself, and immediately knows he’s alone, Steve’s not at home. He only then thinks about it; it’s still early morning, and in all likelihood Steve is out for his run. It leaves him hanging; he was ready to meet Steve, to have their talk, to find some clarity, and now he’s stalled, having to wait until Steve gets back.

Not that he has to wait idle, he should get his gear cleaned and stored, and it’s not like Steve will be that long. As is his habit he goes downstairs to put away his guns in the safe and store the rest of his gear. He hangs up the uniform, noting there is a rip that needs to be mended before starting up the stairs. It probably looks funny, with him in the protective underwear and the shield on his arm. He’s become pretty much the same as Steve used to be with the shield; he doesn’t leave it with the rest of his weapons in the basement but keeps it near. At home it usually sits leaning to his nightstand.

On a whim he doesn’t stop on his floor but climbs up. There isn’t any conscious reason for it, he just does it, even though he knows Steve isn’t going to be there.

The door to the studio is wide open, and there’s a new canvas on the easel in the middle of the room, directed so he can’t see the image from the door. He lets his feet take him in, curious, happy that Steve seems to have found inspiration after several weeks of slump fueled by recurring nightmares. When he pauses in front of the painting it feels like everything comes to a stop, even his thoughts grind to halt. He even stops breathing for a second as he blinks at what he sees.

It’s a painting of him sleeping, close to natural size. He’s on his stomach, hair sticking on his forehead, the metal arm flung out to the side. He’s half covered by sheets, but there’s still a lot of skin in view. He knows it’s painted from memory, knows it must have been what Steve saw the night they ended up in bed together. He remembers passing out in Steve’s bed, but he also woke up enough to realize Steve got up for a moment, to get a drink or something. Bucky remembers pulling him close when he came back, wrapping the metal arm around his waist.

The painting is so detailed most people would expect it to be done with a live model, or at least with a photo reference, but Bucky knows otherwise. He’s glad Steve is using his photographic memory for things other than drafting battle plans and memorizing intel. He also knows it’s not quite finished yet, for all that it looks perfect to him, because Steve hasn’t signed it yet. He only does it as the very last thing.

That’s all at the background, because what Bucky’s most focused on is what the painting means, what it says, and looking at it now, he can’t escape the conclusion. He’s seen a lot of Steve’s art, from every period of his life, and he’s become adept at reading it. Now, what he sees in every brush stroke, in every shade of paint, is the depth of feeling Steve has for him. It’s right there laid out for him, and he has no choice but to believe it. He doesn’t need any additional proof.

***

Bucky doesn’t really know how long he stays there in Steve’s studio, staring at the painting. He’s so immersed in his realization that he only surfaces from his thoughts when Steve is already there, standing at the doorway, looking just slightly unsure. His cheeks are ruddy from the wind and exercise.

“Told you I was going to paint you.”

Bucky chokes out an honest to god giggle, just this side of hysteria. “Yeah, you certainly did. Steve, it’s—”

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, there are so many things he could. He might tell Steve he understands, he might tell him it’s mutual, might tell of all the times he hid the feelings deep into his heart. Part of him wants to plead with Steve to never let him go, another part wants to tell him to run, wants to convince Steve he’s not worth it, that it’s too much trouble.

There’s too much of it, too many things crowding his head and nothing comes out, he’s just standing there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land, drowning in air. His confusion is what springs Steve into action, and distantly Bucky thinks it’s funny how Steve so often doubts himself when it comes to matters of heart but will not hesitate a moment when someone else is struggling, no matter how little.

Steve is in front of him with two quick steps, steady hands grasping his shoulders, the insecurity fallen away with the need to reassure him. “Bucky, no, listen.” Steve draws a breath and squares his shoulders, as if he is going into a battle, and Bucky would find it funny, except he feels like every fiber of his being is hanging on the next words that come out of Steve’s mouth. “I love you.”

There it is, as clear as it can be, and no part of Bucky, not even the most paranoid and pessimistic one, can refute it. He knew it already, and yet to hear Steve say it solidifies it, makes it real and indestructible. He sways on his feet, and Steve pulls him into an embrace, which Bucky has trouble reciprocating because he’s still holding the shield, but he manages somehow, squeezes Steve tight against him.

It occurs to him only a moment later that he should probably say something too, he shouldn’t leave Steve hanging. He’s under no illusion that he’s the only one of them needing reassurance, he knows well where Steve’s insecurities lie. He draws in a breath, and again nothing comes out. The words are right there, both inside his heart and still hanging in the air, since Steve already said them. Yet Bucky finds he can’t. They won’t come out for some reason, for all that they are true, and he hates it, hates it so much because Steve deserves to hear them, deserves so much more, and Bucky doesn’t know if he can give it to him.

The Bucky who ran to Bucharest would be backing away now, would be retreating due to the failure, but he’s not that Bucky anymore. Steve started it, by taking the step away from the Avengers, by having the courage to allow himself to choose what is best for him, and he drew Bucky with him. Now Bucky thinks that maybe the way to honor that courage is to stay, to try. To give what he can and work on the rest.

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t lift his head from Steve’s shoulder, and instead mumbles against his throat, “Me too.”

Immediately Steve’s arms tighten around him, and he shifts enough to be able to press a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s can feel the smile in it, and that finally allows him to pull himself together, to straighten and look at Steve. He’s glad he did so too, because Steve is glowing, there’s no other word Bucky has for it, and it’s a relief, to see that it was enough for now, Steve understood and believed. There’s time for them to work through it, time for Bucky to find it in himself to say the words.

“Were you expecting a threat in my studio?” Steve asks, and Bucky is confused until he gestures at him. “With your Underarmor and shield, that’s not your usual home getup.”

“I honestly don’t even know,” Bucky confesses, and Steve smiles at him and tugs him through the hall to the bathroom.

They wash each other, and Steve very diligently goes over him, making sure there are no serious injuries. He’s moving easily enough, Bucky notes, the ribs he broke six days earlier during the robot incident seem to have knitted together already, and there’s no bruising. It’s just as well, because if there were lingering injuries, Bucky would have to lecture him for going running, and right now he can think of much better things to do with his mouth.

He’s tired though, and Steve doesn’t seem much better, there are still shadows under his eyes, a clear tell of the recent bout of nightmares still plaguing him. Hence, while they kiss until their lips are tingling, they mostly concentrate on actually washing.

They have a meal that’s mostly leftovers from the freezer, since it’s the fastest and least amount of activity requiring way to get their bellies full, and afterward Steve pulls Bucky up the stairs by hand. Bucky follows, not that he wants to do anything else.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping for but I’m kind of beat and not up for anything too active,” he says, even as he feels regretful about it.

Steve pushes him toward his room. “Funny. Get your pyjamas and come up, we’re going to get some shuteye.”

Bucky does, since it sounds like a really tempting idea now, and when he goes up Steve is already turning covers, wearing just boxers and a tank top. The shield is still resting next to the bathroom door where Bucky left it, and he moves it to lean against the corner of the nightstand that Steve isn’t using. It’s probably his fatigued brain, but he likes how it looks there, like it belongs.

“Isn’t it kind of early to go to sleep though, we’re going to have our sleeping patterns messed up,” Bucky says as he slides under covers.

Steve crowds in right next to him. “I don’t care about that, you look like you haven’t had one good night’s sleep since you were last here, and I definitely haven’t, so we can sort out the rhythm after we’re less dead on feet.”

“You say dead on feet and yet you went for a run.”

“Yeah, had to do something to get my brain quiet a little, you know how it is.”

“I do. C’mere.”

Bucky pulls Steve to him and they exchange a few lazy kisses that in a few minutes dwindle into just lying next to each other, heads on the same pillow, noses nearly touching. Steve’s hand is resting on Bucky’s waist, thumb rubbing an unconscious path on his skin, and he is warm and comfortable. He definitely doesn’t want to get up, but neither is he about to fall asleep right this second, and from his bright gaze it seems at the moment Steve isn’t either.

“When did it happen?” Bucky asks, suddenly curious, now that he’s had some time to adjust to the fact that Steve does, in fact, love him.

Steve quirks his mouth. “I’m not quite sure. I mean, I know when I realized it, it was a couple of months ago, you’d come from a mission while I was on a run and passed out on a couch. I just looked at you and knew.”

“Oh, I knew there was something going on, but let it go when you said it wasn’t anything bad.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“No, it’s nothing bad.” Bucky finds himself smiling again, and Steve’s answering smile is just as big.

“When did you know?”

“Always, I think. It just grew with me.”

Steve looks aghast at the confession. “Bucky, I wish I’d known.”

Bucky shrugs, as much as he can lying down. He doesn’t really mind how things have turned out. “It’s fine, it would have been difficult anyway. You were never really built for hiding.”

“But you —” Steve doesn’t get any further before Bucky covers his mouth with his hand.

“I told you, it’s okay. I’m happy.”

Steve kisses his palm, smiling into his skin. “Yeah, I’m happy too.”

It’s only then that Bucky realizes he actually managed to make a declaration, a very definite one too. He hadn’t thought about it, and it just came out. It’s a relief, to know that while he didn’t manage to say he loves Steve in so many words, even when it has been communicated, he still managed to tell him something important. Something just as valuable, maybe even more so, because he well knows love doesn’t guarantee happiness, even though it can help with it.

Bucky pulls Steve closer and rests his cheek on top of his head, Steve’s arm now circling his waist. He feels sleep creeping closer, he’s warm and content, perfectly happy right at this moment.

“Hey Steve?”

Steve hums against his chest, clearly close to sleeping too.

“What are you going to do with the painting, I don’t know if it’s something that’s ready to be displayed to other people.”

It isn’t really. Not that it’s indecent, there’s a lot of skin but no more than he’d show shirtless and wearing shorts in the summer. Instead it’s the raw feeling of it that’s too much. Bucky also feels frankly possessive about it, and he wants to guard it, doesn’t want to let others in on the secret.

“We can think about it tomorrow.” Steve snuffles against him, and in another second he’s clearly all the way asleep. Bucky wraps his arms tighter around him and lets himself be pulled into dreams as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next part is the sixth chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/29504826).


	9. December 10th 2017

Bucky blinks awake, cold sweat crawling down his spine, the nightmare lingering. Next to him Steve shifts and burrows deeper under covers, still asleep despite Bucky having tensed and probably shaken up the bed. He waits until Steve’s breathing has evened out again, indicating he’s falling into deeper sleep, before sliding away from the bed and soundlessly going downstairs.

It’s expressly against their agreement to wake each other up if there are nightmares, but Bucky can’t face Steve now, not after the dream that was a mess of insecurity. He knows if he woke Steve up he wouldn’t be met with cold eyes the way he did in the dream, wouldn’t hear the dearest voice in the world say he’s not enough. Bucky just can’t handle the contrast right now, can’t quite face how his mind betrayed him, portraying Steve as something he’s not.

Frankly, he’d much prefer his more usual dreams, even the one where they’re back on the helicarrier and he doesn’t stop.

He goes all the way downstairs, jams his feet into sneakers, and takes a moment to wrap his right hand. He’s feeling almost too impatient to do so, but he knows the way he’s about to go at the bag would completely bust up his knuckles without protection, and he’d rather not add to the disappointment Steve is bound to feel when he wakes up alone. It’ll probably happen soon enough, they both have gotten used to sleeping together, so much so that being alone in their bed is always noticed.

He rotates his shoulders, limbering his muscles before he takes a stance in front of the bag. He doesn’t come down to the basement that often anymore for this purpose, he’s using his excess energy on his work with the Avengers, and even the difficult nights have been spent mostly somewhere else. It still feels natural to concentrate on the hits and the methodical movement, letting the nightmare and thoughts float on the top of his mind, lighter and not cutting deep.

He hasn’t had any nightmares for a month, not since he and Steve started regularly sleeping together, and he knows he’s got a bit complacent due to it. Not that he expected the bad dreams to be just gone, he always knew they’d be back, but he enjoyed the weeks of sleeping well, and the memory of sleepless nights got less sharp. Steve too has slept in peace, not counting the few nights Bucky was away for a mission. Even then it apparently wasn’t nightmares, just the oddness of being alone that kept him up.

After such a peaceful period this nightmare has hit him hard, especially since it’s a whole new kind of a dream, striking right into the new bit of doubt he’s been harboring, that he’s not good enough for Steve. Part of it is the same old thing he’s been dealing with ever since he started getting himself back, but now with the new aspect of their relationship the doubt has found new ways to worm into his heart.

He doesn’t doubt Steve loves him, can’t, because it’s so obvious and evident now that he dares to believe it, now that he’s actively looking to see it. Instead, the part where he stumbles with is how did it happen, why would Steve feel like that about him. It doesn’t help that he still struggles with putting his feelings into words, and even though Steve obviously doesn’t mind, it still adds to the uncertainty.

He knows too, that if he asked Steve, he’d say there’s no singular reason for him loving Bucky, that he just does, because that’s how love is. It’s the same for him too, he can list a lot of qualities he admires in Steve, but they’re not why he loves him. Bucky loves him because he’s  _ Steve, _ plain and simple. It’s not something he’s unable to understand, and yet he can’t banish the insecurity, the underlying certainty that he should do something more to be worthy of Steve’s love.

He hits the bag, putting a little more force on the blows, enough to know he’s going to feel it afterward in his shoulders, and tries to empty his mind.

***

The first thing that actually registers outside of the physical jolts generated by hitting the bag is the smell of coffee, and really it’s rather amazing that his subconsciousness has learned to trust Steve so much that Bucky didn’t even notice him coming down the stairs.

He strips the tape off his right hand before facing Steve. He’s got two large mugs with him, and he hands one of them to Bucky, tiny frown between his brows as he clearly assesses his status. Bucky takes a sip of the coffee, strong and sweet, just the way he likes it on mornings like this. He feels marginally more human after it, albeit still somewhat detached.

“Sorry I disappeared on you,” he says, because those are words he can manage even now that there are many he doesn’t know how to allow out of his mouth, and considering their promise, they’re necessary too.

“It’s okay, guess it had to happen sometime. Let’s just try and not make it a habit, either one of us,” Steve tells him.

“Sounds like a plan.” Bucky takes another sip from his mug.

“Feeling better?” Steve asks then.

“I guess. I don’t know. Don’t know how long I’ve been down here.”

“Come on, I made breakfast.” Steve takes his hand and pulls him up the stairs and into the kitchen, where omelets and grilled cheese sandwiches wait.

They don’t talk much as they eat, Bucky feels just a bit out of it, shoveling food into his mouth mostly mechanically. At least it helps physically, the gnawing ache that he’s subconsciously been pushing away disappears, but he’s left feeling disconnected, as if he never quite woke up. When they’re done Steve manages to tidy it all up before Bucky even registers that he should probably help, only to have Steve tugging him up again.

He lets Steve take him to the bathroom, strip them both out of the night clothes they’re still wearing and pull him under the spray. The beat of the water against his skin soothes him, and his muscles begin to unwind, the process hastened by Steve’s deft fingers kneading at the knots and stretching his shoulders to make sure there are no lasting effects from his activity. It’s only now that he registers how tightly wounded he has been, as the numbness finally falls away and his skin is almost too sensitive, every touch radiating echoes across his body.

He’s hard, he realizes as Steve pulls him close and cradles him in his arms, his back flush against Steve’s chest. Steve presses a kiss on the side of his neck and doesn’t raise his lips, just moves them gradually down to his shoulder as he takes a hold of Bucky’s cock, starting to jerk him off slow and steady.

In his oversensitive state Bucky can’t do anything but concentrate on keeping his legs steady, the first touch on his erection is too much already. He drops his head back, leaning on Steve’s shoulder, letting himself be enveloped by the warm water and Steve’s body, his hands by now familiar with exactly how to bring Bucky to the edge and over it. Steve doesn’t do anything fancy, doesn’t try to prolong it, and Bucky’s grateful for it, suddenly needing it, needing the sense of being scrubbed clean that the whiteout of orgasm brings to his mind.

He comes with a low moan and nearly falls from his feet, except Steve holds him up while water washes away his come before shutting it off. Bucky makes a halfhearted grab at Steve, meaning to reciprocate, but he’s exhausted suddenly and doesn’t protest much when Steve swats his hands away and reaches for the towels.

“Nope, maybe later, when you’re not about to fall over.”

Steve dries them both of and steers them into the bedroom.

“Come on, Buck, get some sleep.”

“Only if you do too,” Bucky manages to mumble even as he’s already sliding under covers.

Steve does join him, and Bucky curls up close. He’s asleep in seconds. 

***

Bucky’s not sure of how long he sleeps, there’s light out when he wakes up and it’s probably late morning, but he doesn’t know what time it was when Steve coaxed him into bed. Steve is still right there next to him, not sleeping but resting, reading something on his phone. He’s been reading older books recently, having found a site with free digital books that have their copyright run out. Apparently more than one person has been confused about the tendency, since the books were available even before the war, but it’s not like everything was reasonably accessible for a poor and sick young man. Steve always did read, but it was a lot harder to find books then, and Bucky thinks it’s fairly ridiculous to even expect them to have read everything from before the war anyway.

“What’s it today?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s fingers pause in his hair, which Bucky immediately regrets, he always enjoys Steve’s tendency to absentmindedly wrap his locks around his fingers whenever there’s a chance. Steve shifts a bit, propping himself up to look at him. “Frankenstein. Feeling better?”

“Approximately like a human, I guess.” Bucky does a quick mental check up, and finds the distance has dissipated, he’s fully in the waking world again. “I tried to read it, actually, when I was in Bucharest. Didn’t get too far, it kind of hit the wrong places in my head.”

“Yeah, I can see how it would. Want to get up?”

“Nope. Put your phone away, it’s definitely later now. Or how’d you mean get up, I think I could manage something.”

“Oh, okay.” Steve laughs and drops his phone on the nightstand, pulling Bucky closer as he crowds in. “I can get on board with this.”

“Or you can just lie down.”

“If you want that to happen you better stop sassing and do something.” Steve’s eyes dance with merriment, and he definitely has a point, so Bucky fairly gracelessly flops down on top of him and kisses the not at all serious protestations away from Steve’s lips.

It’s been just over a month since they started this, and Bucky is firmly of the opinion he’s never going to get tired of kissing Steve, whether it’s a swift peck for a hello, a sloppy one for good night, one of the sweet and tender ones that never aim for anything else, or like they’re kissing now; with full on intent and promise. In the early days it took him a while getting used to Steve’s beard, the way it tickles and rasps him, how it’s soft most of the time, but a bit pricklier right after Steve has trimmed it. It’s all new, and he loves that kissing Steve is like that in a very definable way.

He’d been with men before Steve, back before the war, not during, since he didn’t want to take that kind of a risk. Besides, after Austria he was hard pressed to let anyone physically close. He has some previous experience, but that never included kissing, they weren’t that kind of encounters. They were strictly about release, not feelings. He tried that side of relationships with girls sometimes, tried to fit into the role that was expected of him, but it never felt right with anyone, and he never managed to get over his pining for Steve. Now he doesn’t have to, a fact that keeps surprising and delighting him.

He’s very determined to get Steve off, especially since he’s already almost fully hard, hips shifting as he seeks pressure against Bucky. Steve probably never really came down from arousal since the shower, for all that he’s been resting, and he’s nearly delirious already, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, kisses turning uncoordinated under Bucky’s determined lips.

Bucky doesn’t bother teasing now as he moves down Steve’s body, just holds him down for a second at shoulders, indicating he should just lie back and take it. Steve allows it for once; most of the time he likes being very much an active participant, to the degree of driving Bucky almost mad sometimes, he just wants to make Steve feel good on occasion. That’s another reason he makes his way down swiftly and grasps Steve’s cock to give it a few good tugs to bring him to full hardness; Steve usually gets fidgety if he goes slow, and surest way of getting him to yield is to overload his senses.

With that in mind Bucky sucks Steve’s cock into his mouth, letting the head bump at the roof and pulling a string of barely intelligible curses from Steve, whose hands fly back to his hair, holding but not tugging, just the way he likes it.

Bucky’s done this before too, but now with Steve the new part of it is he actually enjoys giving head. Back before the war it was always means to an end, an exchange to get something for himself, and hence it was mostly a chore, but now that he very much cares about giving his partner pleasure, he’s discovered he likes it. He likes the heaviness of Steve’s cock against his tongue, the fullness in his mouth, the thread of pulse he can feel in the vein running on the underside if he concentrates. He likes the sounds he pulls out of Steve, the way he tenses and twitches his hips. He likes that Steve keeps his hands on him always, seeking touch all the time.

Bucky pulls up for a bit, jerking Steve off as he looks his fill. Steve has fallen against the pillow, flush scattered down his heaving chest, lips swollen and red, a bead of sweat above the Cupid’s bow. He’s close, Bucky can tell, and he dips down again, licks the head of Steve’s cock before sucking it in and starting to bob his head in earnest.

Steve’s beyond words already, and Bucky pushes down, lets Steve’s cock breach his throat and swallows around it. It tips Steve over and he comes, his breath stuttering in a way that delights Bucky. He stays down, relaxes himself until Steve goes boneless, hands falling away.

Bucky crouches there between Steve’s legs, satisfied with his work as Steve takes a few moments to recover. He’s aware he’s hard, but for now he pushes it away and instead crawls up to kiss Steve, to lick away the moisture from the hollow of his throat. Steve pulls him into a kiss again and rolls them onto their sides before taking Bucky’s cock in hand and jerking him of hard and fast, just the way he needs now. They don’t stop kissing, not even when he spills over Steve’s hand, and he just presses closer, wanting as much skin contact as possible. The kisses soften as they come down from the passion, until finally they’re just breathing together.

When they’re both relaxed and recovering Bucky considers taking another nap, but he’s actually not tired anymore, and from the way Steve’s hands move all over him, petting and soothing him, he’s not either. What they do need is another shower.

***

“Let’s go out for a bit,” Bucky says when they’ve showered, dressed, and eaten.

Steve agrees, and soon they’re strolling down the street toward the park. They don’t really get recognized, even now that there have been a fair bit of photos of Steve with the beard. People still don’t seem to expect it, and so he mostly gets looks from those who think he’s hot, not because people recognize he’s familiar. It’s still a lot of people looking at him, regardless of reasons, and Bucky doesn’t blame them at all. Bucky usually doesn’t get recognized, he knows how to make his body language such that he doesn’t stand out, that the eye tends to slide right over him.

He’s feeling better than he did in the morning, hard not to really, but it’s a weird day altogether, the way it gets after bad nightmares. It’ll take time to shake it off, and he hopes this is not a start of a difficult week, as it sometimes happens, one bad night seems all too often to come with a hoard of companions.

As they come to the park Steve stretches his arms above head and breathes in the crisp cold air, clearly enjoying himself, and Bucky’s happy to see him so loose, unconcerned and relaxed. 

“Guess it was a high time for you to get out today.”

“I actually went for a run in the morning, when you were killing the punching bag.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” It’s an odd revelation to Bucky, he doesn’t immediately see what it means that Steve left him to his devices.

“Yeah. I got up fairly soon after you did, and I listened at the basement door for a bit, and decided to give you a moment. From the way you were going at it, I figured me lecturing you about getting up by yourself wouldn’t have helped.”

“You’re probably right, we might have ended up yelling at each other.”

“I didn’t want to start the morning with that, so I went for a run.”

It’s obvious to Bucky that Steve was annoyed by him ghosting on him, hence the run to let out steam, and he’s glad he remembered to apologize earlier. Now Steve is smiling, easy as anything, meaning it’s all accepted, they’re just talking about it, making sure they’re on a same page. Sometimes, if he pauses to think about it, it does rather amaze Bucky that they’ve come this far; that they can talk about heavy and uncomfortable things like this. When they were younger, Bucky often thought it was amazing how well they knew each other, that they didn’t even need to talk, but now he knows it was only half the truth. They did know each other, knew a lot of what went on in each other’s heads, but they were hiding too, too scared or proud to really say how they were feeling, whether it was desire or pain. They don’t hide any more, and it’s real progress. Bought dearly with life having slammed them to ground too hard in between, but they know now the worth of pulling everything out in the open.

They walk for a while longer, and take a detour at a coffee shop to get ridiculously large peppermint mochas to go before heading home.

***

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks later when they’re comfortably curled up on the couch.

Bucky stalls for a bit, concentrating on the head rub he’s giving to Steve who’s stretched out long, head on his lap. Truth is he doesn’t know how to say he dreamed of Steve as someone else, saying things he never would. He doesn’t want Steve to worry about something like that, to think Bucky doesn’t know his true feelings. Yet, he wants to stick to the honesty they’ve reached, as much as he can.

“It was, well, ridiculous really, thinking of it after the fact. I know it’s something that will never happen, but didn’t while in the dream, and so it unsettled me.”

“So not HYDRA, then?”

“No.”

Steve peers up at him and Bucky meets his eyes, willing him to know he’s being as honest as he can.

“Okay. I just wish I could help.”

Bucky pokes at Steve’s shoulder. “You do help, every day. This right here, what we’re doing now helps.”

Steve smiles then, the frown disappearing. “I’m glad. I know we have all kinds of days, it’s the same for the both of us. And you make my difficult ones better too, you know.”

Bucky just ducks his head down, and continues kneading at Steve’s scalp. He’s tired but calm, and maybe he indeed will be able to sleep this night.

Steve sits up soon after, saying he’ll fall asleep if Bucky continues, and they debate on what they should eat. They fall back to basics and order large pizzas with pretty much everything on them, and decide to find a movie to watch.

“What are you in the mood for?” Steve asks.

“Something fun and bombastic and ridiculous that makes Avenging look like regular business.”

Steve considers for a moment before pulling his phone out. “I actually can’t think of anything, I’ll ask Sam.”

“Not everyone? Could just ask the group.”

“Yeah, but I thought we wanted a movie suggestion, not an argument that’ll take hours on WhatsApp.”

“Yeah, that’s a fair point.”

Steve’s phone chimes then, and the message Sam sent just says,  _ HOT FUZZ!! _

“Yeah, I’ve got no clue what this is like, guess we’ll see.”

Steve sets to finding the movie from the streaming library of Tony’s they have an access to, and Bucky gets the pizzas from the delivery guy and brings them to the living room, as well as a pile of napkins and drinks.

The movie turns out to be a hit for both of them, exactly what Bucky needed, and in the end it’s a good evening for a mixed up day, so he thinks it could definitely be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next part is the seventh chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/30354039).


	10. January 10th 2018

Bucky comes back to the Compound from the mission completely wiped. It’s just past one in the morning, and all he really wants to do is file his report, which he already finished on the way back, and head home to Steve, but he knows he should take a nap first. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep at the wheel, and he knows he’ll need only a few hours of sleep to be alert enough that the trip home will be safe. Even then it’ll be early enough that there won’t be too much traffic when he makes it to the city, and Steve will most likely still be sleeping, so he will not lose any of the day.

He heads to the rec room, he knows the couches there are comfortable, and someone will inevitably be up early enough to wake him even if he doesn’t manage it by himself. He expects everything to be quiet, and hence is surprised to find the lights half on when he comes to the door. Turns out Stark is there, awake and staring at a mostly empty bottle of vodka in front of him.

Bucky hesitates, since they’re not the most comfortable around each other even now, and there’s a very real possibility that the reason Stark is drinking is at least tangentially related to him, and if so, it might be better if he just left the man alone. Still, there’s the instinct in him to make sure that people around him are managing, and it makes him step into the room.

“I would have taken you for more of a whiskey person,” he says by way of a greeting.

Stark looks up and toasts him with the glass before emptying it. Bucky’s presence doesn’t seem to be bothering him, so he goes to the other couch and collapses into the corner.

“It’s water actually. I try not to drink too much these days, but sometimes there are nights that just call for it.”

“So you put water into a vodka bottle to try and fool your brain?”

“Hey, there’s scientific evidence that placebo effect is hell of a thing, even if the person knows it’s happening. So.”

They’re quiet for a while, Stark obviously not keen on talking about the reasons he’s awake, and Bucky knows sleep isn’t going to find him now. For a while now he’s been thinking there’s something he should say, but there’s never been a moment that felt right for it. Maybe now in the middle of the night is as good a time as there’s ever going to be.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” he says, and doesn’t look at Stark, he can’t.

They’ve never talked about what happened in 1991, or in Siberia for that matter. It’s been almost like a quiet agreement to avoid it, but Bucky knows that if he really wants to deal with it, he has to bring it in the open, has to try.

There’s a long while of quiet, and Bucky’s just started to think he’s not going to get an answer when Stark says, “Wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I know that. Trust me, Steve would never let me forget it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets.”

“Yeah, I get that. And I’m sorry for trying to kill you, that was definitely my bad.”

“Understandable, though, and here I am. So no hard feelings.”

Stark lets out a long breath. “You’re probably less likely to hold grudges over that than Rogers.”

“Probably. But he isn’t either, you should know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Mistakes and water under bridge, all that. There’s no changing the past.”

“Is that what you tried with the barf thing?”

The question is out of Bucky’s mouth before he even thinks about it, and he wants to shake his head, he’s really getting lax with the easier life he’s been leading. Just half a year ago he never said anything without thinking twice. Partly he wants to take it back, but he figures Stark is the kind of a person who would appreciate straightness, and they’ve opened up already.

“It’s B.A.R.F. and I know it needs a better acronym but I can’t be bothered. Figured it would be a good thing to be able to say some things I never did.”

“Or hear some things you never did?” Bucky asks, because he might as well.

Stark gives him a sharp look, almost a glare, but seems to deflate right after. “Yeah well, there are a few things he could have said. Or seen.”

“Probably. I always figured he wasn’t too sharp about some things, for all that he knew his way around weapons.”

“You mean before,” Stark says, clearly curious now. “I thought you were his friend.”

Bucky frowns. “I mean, sort of, I guess. We got along when it was about getting a new scope for my rifle or whatever, but honestly he never had much time for us regular people, mostly he just had eyes for Carter and Steve.”

“Like I didn’t know it. He had some kind of a fallout with her, in the last years he barely mentioned her even when he was still thick with SHIELD. Kept his hero worship though.” There’s a definite bitter note in Stark’s voice.

“He could have done with a bit less of that and a bit more of really figuring Steve out, though.”

“How’s that?”

“Steve always did the best he could, in the war and with other stuff as well, gave it everything he had, and Howard admired him for it. I just don’t think he ever got that Steve even without the serum would still have tried to walk to Austria if it had come to that. He always had that spirit and determination, even when he was the kid with a huge chip on the shoulder Howard wouldn’t have spared a glance at.”

Stark sits in thoughtful silence for a bit, before drinking the rest of his water. “I think that kid is a bit more visible these days than just a couple of years ago, and there’s more to him than that chip in the shoulder. Even though there’s definitely that too.”

Bucky grins at him, and kicks his legs out on the couch. He’s out like a light, and wakes up half past four in the morning, refreshed enough to get into the car. He should make it to the city around the time Steve is starting on his morning run. There’s no sign of Stark or his fake vodka anywhere, but Bucky feels calmer about him too, confident they’ve taken a step to the right direction, maybe even made it far enough that it’ll be relatively simple from now on.

***

On the way home the feeling of lightness keeps becoming more and more insistent, and Bucky finds himself even smiling, at nothing in particular, just because. It’s like floodgates have been opened, even though he is conscious this is not something that happened suddenly, but has been building inside him ever since he came to live with Steve.

The step of actually talking with Stark instead of just avoiding it and letting it be the shadow between them is a major one, and he knows he’s been working toward it for many months now. He’s done the work, has talked to Steve, Natasha, and Sam, has endured nightmares, has looked unflinchingly into his past. He’s started trying to make amends, and even when he can’t make it right, he knows he can do good, and it helps. It’s easier now, to think back to the past, to piece together the memories of what he was made to do. They’re still as horrible as ever, but now he knows how to deal with them.

He recognizes that he’s finally starting to forgive himself. For all that people have told him it wasn’t his fault, and even though he’s intellectually understood it, it’s not how he’s felt. Now that he is moving past it, he’s starting to accept the person he is now. There’s still a lot in him that’s a direct result of his time with HYDRA, many skills and instincts, but now he is the one in control, now he chooses how to use them, and it’s all that really matters. He knows these days that the person he is now is critically different from HYDRA’s soldier.

His experiences will always stay with him, never to be forgotten, because that would only lead to ruin, but they no longer weigh him down, and it’s good enough for him. More than good, really.

He drives back toward home, his heart steady, thinking of the happiness he’s found over the last months with Steve, and for once, he’s not feeling guilty about it.

***

He’s just opening the front door when Steve runs up, his cheeks red from the cold air. That he is already done with his run means he must have left earlier than usual, which in turn indicates a badly slept night. There’s no outward appearance of lack of sleep in Steve, his eyes are bright and clear when he smiles at Bucky for a greeting, there is no sign of shadows in them, so it may have been just a random nightmare in the early hours of the morning.

Still, as soon as they’re safely inside behind a locked door, Bucky tugs Steve in to a kiss, and Steve looks even happier at the gesture. Even now, with their relationship very much defined, Bucky’s not great at initiating physical contact, still finding himself hesitating even when he’s sure it’s welcome. He’s been teaching himself out of it, but especially after they’ve been apart for some days due to a mission the hesitation tends to be more pronounced. They’ve talked about it with Steve, who unsurprisingly is patient and encouraging about it.

For a while they just stand in the middle of the hallway, hugging each other. Steve rests his head on his shoulder, and from the gesture Bucky knows he is at least a bit tired, at least inside his soul, but he doesn’t think it’s anything alarming. Soon hunger drives them into kitchen, and they make breakfast together.

When they’ve mostly finished eating and are on their second mugs of coffee, Steve looks at him, contemplating. “You look, I don’t know, lighter, maybe? Chipper.”

The smile that’s been hovering at the corners of Bucky’s mouth breaks out in full force again. “I am. I talked to Stark, and I’m feeling better about it all. It’s easier now, and I think it’s going to be, from now on.”

Steve smiles too, and it’s just a bit watery at the edges. “I’m glad to hear that,” he simply says, but Bucky knows he understands exactly where he’s coming from.

They shower together, and somehow manage to keep it to just getting themselves clean. Steve does knead out some of the muscle knots around his prosthesis, and the renewed blood flow is really almost as good as an orgasm, but they’re out fairly soon.

Neither one of them has anything scheduled, and unless there’s a crisis they should have the next few days to themselves. They don’t feel like going out, and so they pull on comfortable clothes and settle to spend a quiet day. They decide to go with low effort cooking, and put a stew into a slow cooker, so that it’ll make a dinner, and will make sandwiches for lunch.

Bucky flops down on the couch with a book, although he finds himself halfway dozing soon, not concentrating at all on the words on paper. Steve is obviously a bit restless, moving about and doing small chores instead of sitting down, but it too is soothing, the domestic noises around Bucky are all indicators of how thoroughly his life has changed over the last year.

A couple of hours later he’s roused by thirst, and as he gets a glass of water he notices how quiet it is. There’s no sign of Steve moving about anywhere, although he’s somewhere in the house, Bucky would have noticed if he’d left. He climbs upstairs, because there’s really only one place Steve is likely to be in the mood he’s in, if he’d felt calmer and wanted to take a nap he would have come to the couch with Bucky.

The hunch is right; Bucky finds Steve in the studio. He’s not working on anything, he’s just standing in the middle of the room deep in thought, staring at an empty canvas. Bucky lets his steps fall audibly as he crosses the threshold, and Steve shifts minutely, clearly aware of his presence, but doesn’t fully acknowledge him before Bucky wraps his arms around his waist from behind and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“So, clearly it’s a rough day for you.”

Steve rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging a bit. “Yeah, I don’t know why. It wasn’t this bad in the morning, I had a dream, but it was just that, thought it was gone after the run. Sucks, since you’re having a good day.”

“Yeah, and how many bad days have I had on your good ones? Sometimes it goes like this.”

Steve leans against him, loose enough that Bucky’s bearing almost all his weight, and he’s grateful that the closeness at least seems to be easy for Steve. He well knows the feeling of irritation at days that just don’t work, and not being able to pin down a reason for it. Days after bad nightmares are almost easier in that regard, because then there’s at least a discernible source for being down, instead of one’s brain just throwing out random misery.

He can feel tremors in Steve’s body, as if he’s trying to relax and just can’t, and Bucky wants to do more for him, wants to help make it go away, but there doesn’t seem to be any obvious route to take. It strikes him then, something he’s notices but not really taken time to think of, how Steve sometimes on Bucky’s bad days seems almost hesitant, how he’s so very careful around him, and it dawns on him that Steve must have been feeling exactly like he does now. It’s a revelation that helps him, because now that he understands Steve isn’t too sure about himself all the time, he can also see that despite hesitation, what Steve did always helped him. It’s probably the same the other way around.

“Come on, let’s get somewhere more comfortable since you’re not going to paint.”

Steve gets his feet under him and lets Bucky pull him out of the studio and down to the living room, where Bucky coaxes him to sit between his knees, head resting on his shoulder. Bucky tightens his arms around Steve and relaxes otherwise, breathing slow and steady, and soon enough Steve subconsciously follows the rhythm and starts to relax properly.

“You know,” Bucky says, wanting to make sure Steve knows it, “the reason I’ve made a break into doing better is because you provided me a space to do so, here in our home. And I know it’s not just for me, it’s for both of us. On balance I’ve had a lot more shitty days to work through, and you’ve been there for all of them. So let me help you now.”

Steve squeezes his hands for a moment, a silent acknowledgment, before putting on one of the British nature documentaries he likes, this one showing them the golden stretches of Africa, no snow or ice anywhere. Bucky half listens to the narration, half to Steve’s breathing, and both of them mostly doze for the next couple of hours until their stomachs remind them it’s time for lunch.

***

“Can we spar?” Steve asks mid-afternoon.

He was calmer, more centered through lunch and after it, sketching something while Bucky was reading, their legs tangled together, but he’s getting restless again. There’s a shadow in his eyes, a clear sign of darker thoughts, but exercise usually helps. Physical contact too, which is why sparring is a good suggestion, and it’s not like Bucky has anything against it.

They change and go down to the basement. There isn’t really too much of space there, and when they really want to go at it they go to a gym nearby or even the Avengers facility, but they’ve found this works too, with the area marked on the floor and no touching on walls or ceiling. Their house is built well, but they really don’t want to start testing its structural integrity and whether it can take two super soldiers really throwing their weight around. Instead, they have to be controlled and precise while trying to get a leg up on each other, which makes it good enough workout.

Steve puts on the forearm guards Shuri made him back in Wakanda, so that Bucky’s metal arm isn’t going to put the advantage too much on his side, and they start. They’re evenly matched, Steve has kept his level of training up even now that he’s not going on missions, and with Bucky, Wanda, and Peter as sparring partners he has enough variety. These days Bucky has all of the Avengers to choose from, but he likes to spar with Steve, because they’re similar enough in their abilities and strengths that neither one of them has to be too careful, and he still gets the benefit of fighting hand to hand rather than against machinery.

After a couple of hours they’re panting and call it quits, and Steve grins at Bucky, loose and relaxed now, the shadows gone. He looks happy, and Bucky really can’t do anything other than pull him into a kiss and tumble him down on the floor, gently this time, cradling his head on the way. Steve goes easily enough, laughing at him, but he’s already pulling at Bucky’s shirt, so it’s not like he minds at all. Bucky pulls his shirt off but only pushes Steve’s up to expose skin, neither of them bothering to get completely rid of it, too busy kissing.

Bucky rolls on top, and Steve easily adjusts, cradles him between his legs, his cock hardening against Bucky’s. They’re loose and tired after sparring, just aiming for release, and so Bucky pushes himself up on his knees just long enough to tug Steve’s sweatpants and underwear down a bit to expose his now fully hard cock, and pushes his own down just the same before settling down again. Skin against skin the sensation is all the more intense, and Bucky ruts against Steve, sweat and precome slicking the way. Steve’s fingers are tight on his hips, probably leaving bruises like he tends to do more often than not. Bucky always relishes the marks afterward, they’re yet another proof of the intensity of Steve’s feelings for him.

Steve is breathing hard under him, sweat beading at this hairline, lips slick, eyes wide, staring at him, as if wanting to take in every fraction of second. Bucky rolls his hips a bit harder against Steve’s, and sees his eyes slip closed, a sure sign he’s close to the edge, and seconds later Steve comes, spilling hot between them, baring his throat. Bucky takes the offer, sucks a bruise right on the pulse point, and comes when Steve pulls him even closer.

They rest for a moment, Bucky’s head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder, but he pushes himself up soon enough, conscious that it’s probably not comfortable for Steve on bare floor under his weight. They wander up to the shower, and when they’re all cleaned up the stew is ready to be taken out of the cooker.

As they eat, Bucky notes Steve looks completely relaxed, sleepy and in peace, and counts the day a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically the next part is the eight chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/31150713).


	11. February 10th 2018

The quinjet drops him in the park, and Bucky jogs back home from there. It’s mid-morning, a lot of people around, and they unabashedly stare at him in his sooty uniform and the shield on his back. Many of them smile, a little girl even waves at him, and Bucky stops to say hello, gratified to find that the people have somehow found it in themselves to trust him. Not all of them; Bucky knows every time he’s seen on a mission there’s a flurry of articles detailing why exactly he’s not worthy to bear the title of Captain America, or why he should be in prison. To be fair, there are always counter arguments as well.

He doesn’t much care about people saying he shouldn’t be Captain America. He knows there are many who think the role is something of a commodity, that it represents things they’ve attached to it, but it’s not the way he sees it. It was a publicity stunt at first during the war, but the first time Captain America truly meant something was when Steve chose his own actions. Steve gave the title the significance that matters. He had some help, but he was always there at the core, keeping things on the right track. If Steve thinks he’s worthy, then Bucky will do what he suggested; he’ll live and do the work the best he can. He’s been trying to live up to that principle, and it’s more and more natural every day.

He’s had a harder time with accepting he shouldn’t be in prison. He knows if it were someone else in his place, if he were looking at it from outside, he’d think they were not responsible for their actions while under HYDRA’s power, and hence he shouldn’t think of himself as responsible either. It’s just a lot harder to accept there’s nothing to be forgiven for when it’s himself, when he remembers the blood on his hands. Even with this struggle he’s making progress; the guilt is no longer debilitating and impossible. He can live with his past now, and he thinks it’s more than good enough.

It’s good to be reminded that other people too, even those who’ve never had a personal connection to him, think he deserves to be here, deserves to walk on the streets and bear the symbol everyone knows.

He soaks the atmosphere into himself as he nears home. He’s been angry the whole time he was away on the mission, he’s still irritated at HYDRA for their latest harebrained scheme that didn’t really seem to have any purpose behind it, except to maybe cause fear. Even that didn’t work so well, because the group of enhanced people they’d unleashed into several major cities had not been very effective at all. Turned out they’d been kidnapped, were mostly homeless and others who tend to be all too likely to fall through the cracks of society. They’d been given some sort of formula that temporarily made them stronger, but also made their brains sluggish. The Avengers had captured them all, no lethal force used since it wasn’t necessary, and they’re now getting treatment, and as far as Bucky knows, are returning to themselves. They found the branch of HYDRA responsible as well, and Bucky knows the information they gathered will probably lead to more missions after HYDRA, both for the Avengers as well as the non-official ones he, Natasha, and Sam take for themselves.

Point is, what happened over the last few days has all been nonsense, something that would irritate him on principle anyway, but triply so since they were about to have a very special day with Steve, and got interrupted. Bucky knows they can, and probably will sooner rather than later, get back to it, but that one particular moment is gone. As he turns to their street Bucky tries to shake the irritation away. He doesn’t want to bring it home.

He’s approximately calm when he arrives, even when he notes Steve is not there. He knew beforehand it was a possibility, he texted with Steve from the mission and found out he has been helping with the clearing effort in mid-town where the attack in New York took place. Apparently people have finally stopped asking for selfies every few minutes, accepting he’s there to work.

Bucky didn’t know exactly when he’d be home when he called the previous night that they were all wrapped up, and Steve told him he’d go help in the morning but would be back in the afternoon at the latest. Bucky contemplates on texting Steve he’s at home, he’d like nothing better than to get his hands on Steve right now, or more precisely, he’d like to get his dick in Steve like he’d been about to for the very first time when he’d been called up, but decides to let Steve do his thing. He knows it’s important to Steve to help with rebuilding, and he can wait for a while.

He eats, takes a long shower, and when he’s dried himself up he’s yawning twice a minute, so he doesn’t bother dressing, instead crawls between sheets on Steve’s side of the bed and promptly falls asleep.

***

He stirs a bit when Steve comes home, it would be impossible for him not to, but he’s warm and comfortable, and he’s safer now than just two minutes ago, so he falls deeper into sleep again. He floats back toward consciousness soon after, registering the shower is running in the bathroom. He doesn’t move, he just waits, letting the anticipation build. It starts from the base of his spine, radiating out across his skin, curling around his limbs. His heart rate speeds up just a bit, arousal slowly finding every fiber of his body.

The shower shuts down, but he still doesn’t move, just waits and listens. He finally opens his eyes when Steve comes to bedroom. He’s naked too, skin flushed from the heat of the shower, hair towel damp and dripping down the side of his face. All of that is secondary to the fact Steve is already fully hard as he comes toward the bed, eyes darkened with desire.

Bucky throws the covers off and reaches for Steve, only to be pushed down on his back, a warm palm caressing down his side, while Steve’s other, slick with lube, takes a hold of his cock. He was on the way already, and under Steve’s touch he’s fully hard in moments. Steve moves to straddle his hips, guiding Bucky’s cock inside him.

“Wait you need—” Bucky starts but doesn’t get any further, he’s sliding into Steve and it’s easy enough, meaning Steve must have prepped himself in the bathroom already.

Bucky falls back against the pillows, unable to do anything but stare at Steve whose eyes have fallen closed, lips slightly parted, his chest heaving with rapid breaths as he takes all of Bucky in. Finally Steve is seated tight against his hips, and he shudders, goose bumps fluttering up the side of his throat, squeezing around Bucky a bit. Bucky pulls himself up, gets his hands on Steve and kisses up the same path where flush dapples his skin from chest up toward his face.

Steve meets him for a kiss, uncoordinated and messy, more like breathing each other in rather than kissing. It’s almost too intense, just sitting there, deep inside Steve’s warmth, neither of them moving. Bucky presses even closer, trapping Steve’s cock between them, and Steve shudders again around him, clearly overwhelmed as well.

Steve leans his forehead against Bucky’s, eyelashes fanned on his cheeks, and Bucky breathes him in, holds on tight, perfectly happy in the closeness, quivering with the arousal held in stasis now that they’re still, time stretching. He wants this moment to last forever, wants to hurry up, wants to see how much better it can get all at the same time.

It hits him again how much he loves Steve, how all-encompassing it is for him. It’s in every fiber of his being, makes him want to hold Steve safe in their home, makes him want to run into battle beside him, because it feels like together they can do anything. He’s enthralled, staring at Steve at close proximity, almost going cross-eyed trying to focus on him.

Steve opens his eyes, having apparently recovered enough to not be completely overwhelmed. His eyes crinkle with a smile, they’re all Bucky can see, but he knows exactly the face Steve is wearing, happy with a dose of self-satisfied.

“I was kind of looking forward to getting to do this from the start,” Bucky says, grumbling just to be contrary.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to take chances of getting interrupted again before we even get to this. Besides, it’s not like you aren’t going to get more opportunities.”

Bucky shifts his hips, hands firm on Steve’s waist. “You’re saying you like it?”

Steve draws in a shuddering breath, clearly having to compose himself. Bucky should have known it was going to get him into trouble, because Steve squeezes at him, and he goes cross-eyed for an entirely different reason than having to look too close to his nose.

“Jerk, you seem to like it just as well. Want to know what I was thinking I’d like while you were away?”

“Tell me.”

“I was thinking back to the moments before you left, how you looked then, all in armor ready to go. I must admit I was a bit disappointed you came home while I was away.”

“You wanted me to bend you over and fuck you while wearing the uniform.” Bucky means for it to come out teasing, but he doesn’t manage it, the idea is too much and his words come out strangled instead.

“Oh good, you’re into it too.”

Steve grins at him and Bucky can’t take it anymore, he rolls them so that Steve ends up on his back, gasping at the movement. Bucky tries to say something smart, but he doesn’t have a chance before Steve gasps, “Get a move on already.” Bucky does, because it’s all he really wants.

Bucky shifts his hips, just a bit trying to keep his head clear enough to gauge how much Steve can take. After all, it’s new to him, and Bucky would rather be too careful at the beginning. There’s no sign of discomfort at all on Steve’s face when Bucky starts moving, he just grabs a hold of him and urges him on. Steve’s thighs are pressing against his hips hard enough that it would make it difficult to move for someone less strong than Bucky is. It reminds him that even here he’s lucky, to not have to be as careful as he would with almost anyone else, and since Steve is asking for it in words and gestures, Bucky lets go of his control a bit and gives Steve what he wants, snapping his hips harder.

Steve is gasping and moaning under him, arching up to press closer to him, and as always, besides his own gratification, there’s also the knowledge, the wonder that he’s doing this to Steve, that he gets to be the one to bring him apart, to melt his walls down. It’s always a heady feeling.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he says, “Get your hand on yourself.”

Steve must be close too, since he doesn’t make even a token argument, but wraps his hand around his cock, jerking himself off. His eyes slide closed, flush deepens on his cheeks, and Bucky tries to keep looking for as long as he can, taking in every detail. Steve gasps when he comes, almost out of breath, and only then Bucky lets go, presses his face against Steve’s shoulder, thrusts a few more times before stilling and emptying inside Steve.

For a long moment they lie there, Bucky on top of Steve, who moves a bit, gets comfortable, and wraps his arms around Bucky, just tight enough. Bucky thinks he might doze off for a bit if he stays there, but he should probably move before that happens. Steve appears to be awake enough; after his breathing has returned to normal he runs his hands across Bucky’s back and in his hair, his fingers delightfully pressing into his scalp.

“I like your hair like this,” Steve says. “It curls like it did when you were young.”

It’s true; since Bucky cut it shorter, his natural waves showed up again, and he doesn’t use much anything in it, as opposed to the way he used to carefully style his hair ever since he was sixteen. He doesn’t bother these days, and if Steve likes it that way, all the better.

He rubs his temple against Steve’s cheek. “I like your beard too. It’s very now.”

Bucky means it in several ways, in that it’s very different from how men in their youth used to look like, but also in the deeper way, that on the outside they reflect the men they’ve become on the inside, through trials and tribulations. Bucky likes the physical reminders sometimes, they make it all more solid, makes it easier for him to believe it’s all for real.

He pushes himself up and pulls away from Steve, and knows from the way Steve looks at him that he knows exactly what Bucky meant by it. He dips down to kiss Steve again, gets pulled close once more, but it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. Probably.

***

Stickiness and hunger finally get them out of bed, and after a detour through shower and kitchen they end up on the couch. The last time he was called suddenly in for a mission tries to linger on Bucky despite how happy and relaxed he is; his brain wants to listen for his phone, wondering whether he’ll be called in again.

What helps him is Steve, unsurprisingly, because Steve always helps him, but now he’s just so unusually relaxed, visibly happy and content. There is an undeniable instinct in Bucky to buff up his chest, thinking,  _ I did that, _ but he suspects it too is something Natasha would call macho bullshit. Still, knowing Steve at least for now is perfectly happy helps to quiet his mind, guides him into calmness.

It’s a miracle really, that they can be so happy despite everything that has happened, and looking back to before he came here from Wakanda, to the man that woke up from the ice free and clear, being offered the best life he then dared to believe possible, the progress is obvious. Back then he never could have believed they’d be able to end here.

“It’s been hell of a year,” Bucky says, and he feels rather than sees Steve’s emphatic nod, since he’s lying half on top of him, head tucked under Bucky’s chin.

Bucky soothes his hands up and down Steve’s back, even though he hasn’t tensed up with memories. He knows that exactly a year ago Steve was at the Avengers Compound, finally admitting to himself he was exhausted and that he needed to take a break. He only managed it a couple of months later when Bucky was woken up from the ice, but the seed was born then. 

Looking at him now, even if he still hasn’t solved all his issues, Steve is doing fine, and the contrast to him during last April, or during the whole debacle with Zemo, is staggering. Bucky knows too, that the change in him has been just as momentous, and he also knows that the only way it’s been possible is for the two of them together, helping each other. In the early days, when he first ran to Bucharest, it wouldn’t have been possible, the closeness would have been too much, but Bucky knows he probably held back too long. He could have found Steve earlier, and maybe then some things at least would have been different.

At least he’s learned that lesson.

Steve’s thoughts seem to be running on a different track, because his question comes from left field for Bucky. “Do you ever regret where our lives have taken us?”

“No,” Bucky says immediately. He knows that considering his choices, there are some things he would have liked to do better, but in broad strokes, he doesn’t regret anything. “Not despite how it all happened, because this is me now, here with you. And the person I’m now couldn’t have come to be except through the path I took, and it’s been bought with a lot of work. And I don’t want to give it back, even to have some horrors not to have happened.”

Over time, there are so many pieces of Bucky that have been taken away that having to give something of himself up, even as a hypothetical, makes him almost physically sick. It seems Steve, who’s propped himself up to look at him, gets it too, because he nods and leans in for a kiss.

“I like this version of you.”

***

That night Steve falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. It’s no wonder, Bucky knows Steve hasn’t been getting too much sleep recently; he’s in the phase of recovery where things fall on his head a bit more than usual. It’s nothing too bad, but certainly affecting him. It’s all for the better, Bucky knows when it’s over Steve will have found a more stable footing again. In addition to that, it takes no genius to know Steve must have worried over the latest mission even more than usual. Now it all seems to have fallen away, and maybe Steve will even get a full night of sleep this time.

For Bucky, sleep is harder to come by, despite how he too is exhausted with back to back missions. It’s not even restlessness, he’s loose and comfortable with his nose tucked against Steve’s neck, hand pressed over the heart that these days beats steadily through every night. He just can’t seem to be able to quiet his thoughts.

The pleasant change is that the thoughts keeping him awake are nothing bad for once. Instead, he keeps looking back, keeps remembering where he’s coming from, and again it’s a confirmation that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He has found a way to live with his past, to accept and to move forward. He thinks the man he was when he left for war wouldn’t understand it at all, but he’s not the same man anymore, and he’s okay with that.

It’s a balance that works for him; he can be the fighter who scares those whose allegiances lie with HYDRA, and he is also the man that gets to curl up with Steve between their sheets. He’s capable of both ruthlessness and gentleness, and he now knows they’re not inherently at odds with each other.

He’s now able to let go of the past, not forget it but stop fearing it. It’s no longer a shadow looming over him, because he’s looked straight into it, he’s shined a light over every part of it and it no longer has power over him. He’s the one holding reins now, and he intends to make the best of his life, with every bit of wisdom he’s managed to glean from his experiences.

With that thought, he finally can let his mind clear, and sleep turns out to be right around the corner. He presses closer to Steve who shifts and moves a hand over his, fingers curling to hold it gently even when it’s made of nigh indestructible metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more to go with Bucky, he’s almost got his issues wrapped up.
> 
> Chronologically the next part is the ninth chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here is a direct link to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/31904631).


	12. March 10th 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very happy 101st birthday to Bucky!

Bucky is lounging in the quinjet, his legs propped up, comfortable. They’re about half an hour away from the compound, and the sea below them is vibrant blue under the morning sun. He’s unusually well rested considering he’s coming home from a mission; it was fairly boring for most of the time, and he even managed to sleep during the transport back home, which isn’t really a given. Wanda is curled up in the seat next to him, but she too is awake, her eyes bright in the morning light.

“I would have expected them to keep us there for a longer debrief,” Bucky remarks, because the mission had been wrapped up unusually fast. Not that they’d neglected anything, they covered all important details, but in his experience they’re usually kept on site or back at the compound for a lot longer than necessary. This time, they’re done already, free to go home soon as the jet lands.

Wanda grins at him. “Apparently Steve has been hanging out at the compound, very pointedly not asking them to get you home for your birthday.”

It’s only then that the date really registers for Bucky. He’s been aware of it of course, he’s been keeping the log and written his reports, but he hasn’t really thought about it beyond that. Still, it’s true, it is his birthday. One hundred and one years, which as a number sounds absurd, but on the whole, it feels appropriate too, based on how much past he’s carrying with him. These days the load is lighter, or maybe he’s better equipped to bear it, but it’s all still there.

“Is there a birthday party waiting for me?”

This time her grin is impish. “Not today.”

Bucky didn’t really expect himself to get out of having a party, but he’s relieved it’s not on the day, especially since he’s coming home from a mission and needs to unwind. Steve probably knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. It’s a strange thought, a birthday party for him. It’s been decades since his last one, and with everything that has happened in between, he barely remembers details, and even less the emotions. Maybe it’ll get less bizarre once it’s actually happening.

He packs his things to be ready when they come to nearer to their destination, and soon they’re over land rather than water. The Hudson flashes under them, and in moments the jet is circling, decelerating and finally floating down. When the door opens Bucky sees Steve standing outside the landing pad, in warm brown leather jacket and jeans, the sun highlighting the gold in his hair. He’s been to the barber, his hair is neater now, about the same as it used to be during the war. It had gotten longer during the last couple of months, and Bucky takes the change as a tentative sign that Steve is getting over the latest somewhat rough patch mentally.

When they step on the tarmac Wanda grabs his arm and comes up to her toes to press a kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday!” She skips forward, right to Steve to greet him with a hug before heading inside.

Steve’s smile is warm in his eyes when he hugs Bucky as well. They don’t linger in the touch, even now that it’s accepted they’re not really that good at overt public displays of affection. Bucky thinks it’s probably fairly obvious to anyone looking at them for more than a few seconds what their relationship is, but it doesn’t mean they broadcast it.

Steve takes one of his bags, and they head to the parking area. “Let’s go home.”

***

They don’t talk much on the way home. Bucky spends it comfortably nestled in his seat, mostly just looking at Steve who’s responsible enough to keep his eyes on the road since he’s driving. He’s got a small smile playing on his lips, and Bucky thinks he’s probably not even aware of it, it’s just a sign of his happiness. This is something he could get used to.

Coming to the city reminds Bucky why he usually tries to travel early in the mornings and late at night. It’s Saturday, but still very busy, people are probably getting their shopping done or something, and he might get annoyed by it in general, but it’s not so bad today. It’s still time he gets to spend with Steve, and nobody’s shooting at him, which is always a bonus. Steve even brought a bag of trail mix for the road, so they’re not getting too hungry either.

They spend the last ten minutes of the trip trying to decide what they want to eat for lunch. Bucky finally throws in the birthday card and Steve gives up, not that he seems dissatisfied by the suggestion of proper New York-style pizza.

They’re pulling up in front of their house when there’s a rain of bullets on the roof and windshield of their car. It’s fairly useless, because of course their car is armored, and they’re perfectly shielded unless the attackers break out much bigger guns. Bucky loads his guns while Steve uses the built in sensors of the car to scan the environment. They see about a dozen hostiles on the screen.

“Guess there’s no way of convincing you to take this easy,” Bucky says.

“I may be on a break, but if someone is stupid enough to actually attack they’re going to get it,” Steve says, completely predictable.

“Okay, but you take this,” Bucky says, hands the shield to Steve, and stops the immediate argument with, “I’m still wearing Kevlar.”

As a miracle Steve actually concedes the point, and when there’s a lull in the hail of bullets they spring out of the car and head for the attackers. The group turns out to be semi-competent, decked in Kevlar, and armed well, but still no match for the two of them, and it only takes minutes to sort out, since the attackers foolishly try to stand their ground. All of them are taken out where they stand, except for the last one, who finally tries to run, but doesn’t get far before he’s stopped by a girl with a mass of black curls and a baseball bat. Based on her swing Bucky’s sure she’s spent some serious time playing ball.

All the attackers are unconscious, and while Bucky gets a bunch of cable ties from the car Steve starts dragging them into a line on the sidewalk, disarming them while he’s at it. A team of cops turns up, and they don’t need to do too much explaining, since all the attackers have the HYDRA logo on their armor. Apparently they’re not too interested in hiding, which is stupid, because being a HYDRA member these days is a much bigger offense than committing the same crimes as a member of pretty much any other group. Soon enough there’s backup on scene; officers escorting the crooks into vans and packing up their considerable arsenal.

Steve is still holding the shield, and with it even in his civilian clothes and beard he’s the one all the official people want to talk to, which suits Bucky fine. He sits down on the steps leading up to their door, waiting for Steve to be done. They’ll need to call someone to get their car fixed, and that’ll be a hassle, since it can’t be any old mechanic.

“This is not the birthday I wanted,” he mutters.

The girl who bashed the last HYDRA goon’s head in stands next to him, the bat on her shoulder, and she snorts at his words, but when Bucky looks up her smile is friendly. It’s only then he really registers that there’s actually a whole crowd standing on the sidewalk, most of them familiar faces because they live nearby, and he’s suddenly conscious of their Saturday having turned upside down, their street having become a site of a shootout just because he and Steve live there.

“Sorry we brought this here,” he says, thinking of all that could have gone wrong.

He’s surprised to find everyone vehemently shaking their heads.

“Don’t worry about it,” the girl says.

“Not your fault,” adds an old man. “You’re one of us, we’re always ready to bash a few heads for fellow Brooklynites.”

Steve comes up then, grinning at what’s being said, and they linger even as the police drive away and the only sign of the shootout is their car. They shake hands, talk to the people, and Bucky realizes that Steve knows a lot of their neighbors personally. It shouldn’t surprise him, Steve is friendly enough, spends most of his time in the neighborhood, and works on a lot of community projects while Bucky’s on missions. He doesn’t know half as many of them even by name, but they all fold him into their friendliness as well, wishing him happy birthday.

Right after the shootout Bucky thought that maybe they should move away even though they love it here, because their presence puts these people at risk, but now he knows otherwise, knows their neighbors wouldn’t have them live anywhere else. He just has to trust they can handle whatever comes, and besides, he knows for a fact that the amount of potential muggers and other criminals hanging around has gone down since they first moved in, so maybe they bring a little safety as well.

They’re finally done, the crowd dispersing, and they head home after Steve has high-fived the girl with the baseball bat and told her, “Nice hit, Jayla.”

***

Steve closes and locks the door, and when the security system activates Bucky can feel the tension flowing out of him, safety flooding in. The attack got his adrenaline up high for all that it wasn’t very taxing physically, and it’s still rushing through him. Happily, he knows a perfect way of dealing with it. 

He drops his gear bag and pulls Steve to him, pressing him against the wall and crowding into his space. Steve goes easily, smiling into the kiss Bucky claims from him. He grabs a hold of the straps of Bucky’s shield harness, hauling him right in, their bodies flush against each other, obviously all in with Bucky’s plan.

Bucky rubs his cheek on Steve’s beard, enjoying the contrast of scratchiness and softness before bending down and sucking a kiss right on his pulse point. “I think I want to unwrap my present right now.”

Steve shakes with held down laughter that turns into a sigh when Bucky teases him just a bit with his teeth. “There’s probably a smart aleck reply to this, but I can’t figure it out, so carry on.”

Bucky does, the adrenaline making him too impatient to even make fun of Steve’s distraction, and he sets to getting rid of Steve’s clothes. Steve already took his jacket off, so Bucky pushes both his sweater and t-shirt up and pulls them off when Steve raises his arms up to help. Soon as his arms are free, Steve goes for the fastenings on Bucky’s uniform, but Bucky closes his hands around Steve’s, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Steve looks puzzled, but there’s a hint of a smile that draws Bucky’s grin out.

“I seem to recall you were once disappointed I’d had time to get rid of the uniform before we got to this.”

The effect of his words is more than Bucky expected, Steve immediately flushes, the pink dappling down his chest, and his pupils widen, hands twitch against his chest. Bucky’s hand is resting over Steve’s ribs, and he feels his heart rate immediately pick up. He leans in to suck a kiss over his collarbone, a spot that’s ticklish and sensitive.

“Thought you might like that.”

“Get to it then.” Steve’s voice is just a bit strangled, he’s clearly aiming for exasperation, but missing it by some distance, starting to get overwhelmed.

Bucky does as instructed, unfastening Steve’s jeans and sliding them down with his underwear. He then has to kneel down, because Steve still has his boots on. He pulls the laces open, guides Steve to step out of the boots and jeans, and while he’s down there he kisses Steve’s hip grease, pressing the femoral artery with his tongue, feeling the pulse jump, before nosing at the base of Steve’s now hard cock. Steve lets out a shuddery breath, and tightens his fingers on Bucky’s shoulder where he steadied himself as he stepped out of his clothes.

Bucky doesn’t linger, as soon as Steve is completely naked he rises back to his feet and presses a hard kiss on Steve’s mouth, pushing his tongue in, reveling in the familiar taste. Steve arches against him, obviously seeking the feeling of the rough Kevlar on bare skin, and Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, holding him tight. He has a goal, though, and so he indulges only for a moment before he shifts and hauls Steve up to his arms, hands under thighs. Steve lets out a fairly undignified yelp of surprise, and Bucky has to concentrate on not dropping him due to laughter, but Steve gets up with the program, wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist and loops his arms over his shoulders. He could hold himself up with no trouble, and he grinds closer, hips undulating in a slow circle. Bucky momentarily loses the thread of his thought as he watches.

He can’t really feel that much, not with the protective layers around his torso. Instead he’s completely enthralled by Steve, the way pleasure obviously takes him over as he presses against Bucky. He stands there, staring for several seconds, until Steve opens his eyes, and despite having that familiar far gone look of pleasure in his eyes he’s still himself.

“Want to get moving, or are we doing it like this? Because I can get on board with that, but it seems a bit boring for you.”

It isn’t by a long shot, and Bucky makes a mental note to sometimes just watch Steve, but it’s not happening now, his uniform is definitely too tight at the pants already, and he had very definite plans he means to stick to.

He navigates to the living room, and doesn’t even bump into corners despite Steve having decided to try and drive him into distraction by sucking a mark at his throat. He pauses at the drawers and pulls out the lube, by this time they have some in pretty much every room of the house, and from there he goes to the padded footstool, and lays Steve on his back on top of it. It’s easy, carrying Steve, and for all that Bucky sometimes wishes he wasn’t quite so overhauled physically, he’s definitely gotten new appreciation for his strength since they started having sex, because there’s so much more one can do when it’s not a hindrance that your partner is made of 240 pounds of muscle.

The footstool might be Bucky’s favorite piece of furniture right after their bed; it’s very comfortable to rest feet on, long enough to have space for the both of them, steady enough to lay things, even food, on it if the table is too far away, and comfortable as a seat if there are a lot of people they need to accommodate. It’s also exactly the right height for what he has in mind, sturdy, and the cover is even easy to clean, not a minor point of consideration when they bought it.

He pauses for a moment, kneeling between Steve’s legs, just looking. Steve is flushed, there’s a sheen of sweat covering him, and an assortment of hickeys blooming here and there, cock hard and red. It was a joke when Bucky said he wanted to unwrap his present, but really, naked and ready for him Steve is a gift, one that he’s not even remotely getting used to having yet.

Steve pulls him out of the reverie by digging his heels hard into his buttocks. “Get on with it, Bucky, or I swear to God I’m going to take care of myself.”

It’s not an idle threat; there’s only so far Steve will indulge his tendency to pause and just look, and so Bucky slicks up his fingers and slides two into Steve’s ass. They go easily, Steve is aroused enough that he’s already relaxing, and Bucky knows like this he won’t need much prepping at all. He twists his hand, seeking Steve’s prostate while fumbling at his flies with his other hand. Thankfully the design of the suit is practical, aware that superheroes will need to use the bathroom and that having to take off the whole suit isn’t good practice. Happily it translates into easy access while having sex too.

He pulls his hand away from Steve, who makes an impatient noise at it. Bucky slicks his cock, pulls Steve closer to the edge by hips, and lines up. He presses in, steady and slow to allow Steve time to adjust. He’s just loose enough, it’s an easy slide in, but makes Steve overwhelmed enough that he’s not immediately demanding Bucky for more. He takes a second when he’s fully seated, watching Steve’s throat bob as he swallows, before pulling out and thrusting back in. He sets a steady pace, bending forward, and Steve pulls him right in, going for as much contact as possible. 

They kiss, messy and uncoordinated, Bucky reeling with the odd contrast of being inside his suit and hence only feeling Steve around his cock and where his hand is cradling his head, where they’re kissing. Bucky shifts a bit down, to make the movement easier, rests his forehead on Steve’s collarbone as he fucks into him, hard and fast now. Steve is moaning with abandon, clearly Bucky’s hitting him just right, and he’s incoherent with the pleasure, fingers digging into the uniform, breath coming in and out fast, as if punched, and it doesn’t take long at all before Steve goes tense and clenches around Bucky, coming between them.

Bucky keeps the pace, chasing for his own release as Steve goes limp under him. When he comes it’s an explosion of light, his muscles going liquid, and he collapses over Steve.

He lays there for a moment, his cheek resting on Steve’s chest, listening to his steadying heart rate. Steve’s hand comes to his hair, petting him, gently sorting out the strands. Bucky wishes he could stay like it forever, but his knees are starting to feel it now that he’s no longer riding the high, and Steve would probably appreciate not having his pelvis pressed down.

He pulls up and away, noting that his uniform is in a slightly more interesting state than usual, although the cleaning service the Avengers use has seen alien guts, so this probably isn’t too odd. Steve is relaxed and smiling, still lying where Bucky set him, almost glowing with happiness, so much so that Bucky can’t do anything but smile back, even when he notes the red on Steve’s skin where the uniform chafed. He gets to his feet and offers a hand to Steve, who comes readily up and into his arms for another kiss before they go upstairs for a shower. 

Afterward Bucky rubs aloe over the red on Steve’s skin, already healing and not exactly necessary, but from how he lays on their bed, relaxed and smiling with his eyes closed, Steve doesn’t mind the attention.

***

Their meal that day settles somewhere between a lunch and a dinner, spanning late into the afternoon. By the time they ready to eat they’re ravenous, and together they demolish the two family sized pizzas in no time. They have a few beers with them, and there’s a cake for dessert, because of course Steve got him one. At least there are no candles, although Bucky’s sure that if there’s a birthday party with the Avengers, there will be a cake with all one hundred and one. He finds he doesn’t even mind.

They sit in the corner of the couch, cuddled under a blanket, Bucky’s legs resting over Steve’s, a documentary on space on television, and he is perfectly happy. He revels in the feeling, not least because of how familiar and comfortable it is. Just a year earlier he was in the ice, sleeping, and even when he woke up he couldn’t imagine a life where he’d be happy more often than not. He’d thought he’d lost the ability with everything HYDRA did to him, and when he’d reached a state of neutrality in Bucharest it had felt like a victory. His life now is something else, something he couldn’t even imagine then, and he’ll be forever grateful that Steve decided to take the leap, to suggest they try.

The best thing about this is that not only is he happy, Steve is too. Bucky knows there are still things Steve needs to come to terms with, but he’s getting better every day, and it’s not a case of if he does with him anymore, but when. Bucky knows from all that has happened they will not live quiet lives, at least not for a long time yet, but it’s okay, they will always have this, the house they’ve made into a home.

Years ago he said he’d take Steve into the future, and while their paths here were separate, and it was mostly difficult beyond belief, they’ve made it. They are in the future, together and happy. It’s all he needs, more than he ever could have dreamed about.

He leans back against the cushions, savoring the last bite of the cake, looking at Steve, who probably feels his gaze and turns to him, smiling.

“I love you,” Bucky says, easy and light, because it’s the truest thing in the world.

It’s only when Steve’s eyes crinkle with added happiness that he realizes what exactly he said. It’s the first time ever, after months of fretting over how difficult the words are even when the sentiment is true, and now he didn’t even notice them coming out. It just happened.

“Come here,” Bucky says and pulls Steve closer. He comes eagerly, and doesn’t mention the wetness in Bucky’s eyes when they kiss, gentle and thorough.

They stop when they tip over their thankfully empty plates, and Steve sets them on the coffee table before he lifts one of the cushions and pulls a small box with a ribbon around it from inside the couch and hands it to Bucky.

“I actually had a present besides me for you,” he says, grinning.

“Did you put it there before you left to get me?” Bucky asks, pulling the ribbon open.

“Yep.”

“What if I had sat there?”

“It’s nothing that’ll break.” Steve’s smile is tender when he follows Bucky’s process.

Bucky opens the box and finds a pair of tags, old and worn, and looking at them more closely realizes one of them is his, and the other Steve’s. “Where’d you get my tags?”

“I had them. I guess you don’t remember, it wasn’t anything remarkable after all. The chain broke on a march during our last mission, got snagged on a branch, and you were on point, so I just picked them up and put in my pocket. I forgot to give them back, only remembered after it all in London. I had them with me on the Valkyrie.”

Bucky looks at them, notes the chain is indeed new, the metal shinier. He runs his thumb over the names, and with this he also knows the tags Steve carries usually in his pocket now have both their names as well.

“I thought of giving them to you right after we moved here, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want you to think I was somehow asking for the old Bucky back.”

“I know it’s not about that.”

“I know. That’s why I did this now, and switched one of yours with mine, because you’re steady enough within yourself that it’s nothing more than a sappy gesture that it is.”

“I like the sappy gesture,” Bucky says, tucks the tags safely in his fist, and hauls Steve back into a kiss.

When they pull apart, Bucky slips the chain over his head and tucks it in his shirts, the weight of the tags a concrete reminder of the two of them, together. It’s a perfect gift on a perfect birthday afternoon. It’s been a day very much like his life in general these days, with ups and downs, them pulling through together, and Bucky thinks if they just stick to it, they’ll be able to do anything. It’s a wonderful feeling.

He tucks himself against Steve’s chest, head resting on his shoulder, and watches the rest of the documentary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m extremely pleased I managed to get to the end of this without dropping the ball on the posting schedule! It's the last hour of March 10th here, but easily within the day. This story has been a bit different sort of creative process, since I didn’t really know how it would end. I knew Bucky would sort out his head and get together with Steve, but the specifics came as I wrote it over the year. 
> 
> Thank you all that have followed along, it's been fun!
> 
> And it’s not over yet, there are three more chapters to go on Steve’s side, and I’ve no clue yet how the final chapter will pan out, because I’ll have to see IW before deciding if I want to incorporate something. Also, I’m almost decided on writing a third part, one that would work as a coda and be posted on Steve’s birthday.
> 
> Chronologically the next part is the tenth chapter on Steve’s side of the story, [here's a direct link to it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399331/chapters/32759556).
> 
> I’m also on [tumblr](http://stellahibernis.tumblr.com/post/159422939842/forget-the-dragon).


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